TU' 


WILD  POPPIES 


BY 

GRACE   HIBBARD 


BUFFALO 

CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON 
1893 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  GRACE  HIBBARD. 


PRINTED  BY  C.  W.  MOULTON,  BUFFALO,  N.  Y. 


DEDICATION. 

TO  the  Military  Order  of  the  Loyal  Legion  of  the 
United  States,  and  more  especially  to  California 
Commandery,  this  book  is  respectfully  dedicated. 


7361; 


INDEX. 

PAGE 

The  Spirit  of  the  Spring i 

Dreaming 4 

Bells  of  Venice 5 

Blue  Bells 6 

My  Father's  Sword 6 

Under  the  Pines 7 

The  Old  Slave's  Lament 9 

Fishing IO 

All  Souls'   Eve 10 

Apple  Blossoms 12 

The  Soldier's  Son 13 

Up  from  the  Sea 14 

"Night's  Candles  are  Burned  Out" 15 

My  Playmate 15 

Love's    Immortality 17 

How  shall  Jeanne  de'Arc  be  Painted 20 

"Je  Te  Rejoins" 21 

An  April  Snowflake 22 

The  Old  War  Horse 22 

Hope 24 

Wild  Roses 25 

Snow  on  the  Plains 27 

Away  from  Home 28 


Index. 

PAGE 
28 

Found 30 

The  Crystal  Bells  of  Santa  Helena 3Ij 

Ancestor  Mine -2 

The  Astronomer's  Wife ,2 

The  Pagan  Girl's  Prayer  to  the  Sun 34 

A  Vignette 34 

Waiting  for  Colin 35 

Under  the  Orange  Trees 36 

The  Old  "Hartford" 37 

Shadow  Land 3g 

Wild  Poppies 39 

The  King's  Return 40 

Someone 42 

Cast  Aside 43 

Memorial  Day 43 

A  Legend  of  Calvary 44 

A  White  Chrysanthemum 45 

The  Heart's  Firelight 45 

Discovery  of  the  Sunshine  Mine 46 

A  Dream tj0 

My  Mother's  Birthday 5I 

A  Winter's  Day 5I 

The  Sea  is  a  Grave  To-day 53 

Morning  Glories 54 

One  Wild  March  Night 55 

A  Prince 56 

56 


Index.  vii 

PAGE 

Wild  Violets 57 

The  Royal  Succession 58 

On  the  Beach 59 

AValentine 60 

New  Year's  Fancies 6° 

Either  Way 61 

My  New  England  Home 62 

The  Loveliest  Picture 63 

A  Prayer 64 

In  the  Gloaming 65 

Compensation 66 

A  Cigarette 66 

Waiting  at  the  Gate 67 

In  the  Cathedral 68 

San  Juan  by  the  Sea 69 

Before  the  Holidays 69 

After  the  Holidays 71 

Whither 72 

Suspense 72 

Safe 73 

Sunset  Fancies 74 

Where 74 

To  Ada  Rehan's  Picture 75 

Alpine  Barry 76 

To 78 

The  Sapphire  Sea 79 

A  Paris  Bonnet 80 

All  that  Remains  .              82 


viii  Index. 


PAGE 


The  Sun  has  Gone  Down 83 

Do  They  Know 84 

California 85 

My  Watch 86 

Night  at  Sea 88 

A  Laurel  Wreath 88 

Day  Dreams 89 

Eternal   Silence 9o 

To-morrow  will  be  Bright 91 

Under  the  Sentence  of  Death 92 

The  King's  Daughter 92 

Changed 94 

Farewell 95 

Pictures  on  the  Wall 96 

Beside  the  Sea 99 

A  Golden  Pathway 99 

New  Year's  Eve 100 

My  Traveler IOi 

Every  Morning I0i 

Jewels  from  Under  the  Sea 102 

Too  Soon 103 

Platonic  Friendship 104 

Under  a  Mimosa  Tree 105 

Two  Stars 105 

The  Clock  on  the  Tower 109 


WILD   POPPIES. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SPRING. 

WE  made  our  home  in  the  wilderness, 
The  wilderness  of  billowy  grass, 
That  rose  and  fell  at  the  tide  of  winds, 
But  lay  at  noontide  a  sea  of  glass. 

I  was  an  artist,  who  sought  to  catch 
The  sunset's  glory  on  prairie  wide; 

A  picture  to  paint  was  my  fond  hope, 
For  the  Salon — and  she  was  my  bride. 

Before  our  cabin  a  cottonwood  grew, 

Whose   heart-shaped   leaves,    like    humming 
bird's  wing, 
Fluttered,  and  quivered,  on  slender  stems, 

And  in  its  shadow  a  bubbling  spring. 

Summer  had  passed  like  a  spirit  by, 

The  cottonwood' s  leaves  were  sere  and  gray, 

And  the  corn-stalks  stood  like  sentinels, 
Summer's  outposts,  that  sad  autumn  day. 

But  alas!  the  sunset  I  had  sought 
To  capture  on  canvas,  for  the  Salon, 

Still  burned  in  the  sky,  and  in  my  brain, 
And  the  radiant  summer  was  gone. 


*•:  ;'..     2      .'  :  :  .;  ;   ;  Wild  Poppies. 

•'.  \  ;V;  The:  noon  was  hot,  and  breathless,  and  still, 

The  while  clouds  rose  like  mountains  high, 
Peak  above  peak,  grim  giants  at  war, 
In  the  far  away,  blue,  western  sky. 

I  mounted  my  horse,  that  sultry  noon, 
Not  heeding  her  voice  who  bade  me  stay 

Nor  the  mute  appeal  of  her  white  arms, 
Held  out  to  me  as  I  rode  away. 

I  rode,  and  rode,  for  many  a  mile, 
My  sombrero  down  over  my  eyes, 

And  smoked  cigarettes,  and  cursed  my  fate, 
'Till  a  tint  of  gray  crept  o'er  the  sky. 

Was  my  brain  maddened,  or  did  I  hear 

The  whisper  of  demon  from  below  ? 
"  There'll  be  no  red  in  the  sunset  to-night; 
Paint  thou  the  prairie  fire's  red  glow." 

-#0!M$       ^O  r 

The  air  was  breathless,  and  still  and  hot, 
The  billowy  grass  a  motionless  sea, 

No  breeze  was  coming  from  east  or  west; 
I  threw  my  cigarette  far  from  me. 

A  torch  of  fire  my  cigarette; 

The  dry  grass  changed  to  fluttering  wings 
Of  scarlet  and  gold,  then  serpents  crawled 

In  sinuous  paths,  like  living  things. 


The  Spirit  of  the  Spring.  3 

Wild  with  delight  at  the  deed  I  had  done, 
I'd  not  taken  thought;  was  mine  the  blame 

That  like  a  demon  out  of  the  west 

On  wings  of  blackness,  the  wild  winds  came  ? 

I  thought  of  Pharaoh's  struggling  hosts, 

As  frantic  I  crossed  the  fiery  sea, 
To  rescue  her,  far  dearer  than  life, 

And  some  way  a  path  was  made  for  me. 

For  she  was  alone,  my  darling  one; 

In  the  fire's  path  my  cabin  stood; 
I  saw,  like  shower  of  falling  stars, 

The  blood-red  leaves  of  the  cottonwood. 

Before  our  ruined  cabin  I  stood, 

Wild  with  despair;  'neath  the  leafless  tree, 
Calling  my  darling's  name  o'er  and  o'er, 

Begging  my  darling  to  come  back  to  me. 

Up  out  from  the  spring  my  darling  came, 

A  look  of  ecstasy  on  her  face: 
My  picture,  ' '  The  Spirit  of  the  Spring, ' ' 

In  the  Paris  Salon,  had  a  place. 


Wild  Poppies. 


DREAMING. 

IDLY  sitting  by  my  window,  fair  dreams  dreaming- 
Dreaming  snowy  clouds  are  castles  seeming, 
Built  on  gray  rocks  in  the  sky  sea  lying, 
Stormed  by  golden  sunbeam  arrows  flying. 

Idly  sitting  by  my  window,  fair  dreams  dreaming — 
Dreaming  snowy  clouds  are  white  waves  gleaming, 
On  the  tropic  blue  of  sky  sea  dashing, 
In  the  brightness  of  the  sunset  flashing. 

Idly  sitting  by  my  window,  fair  dreams  dreaming — 
Dreaming  white  clouds  are  cherub  faces  beaming, 
With  bright,  fleecy  hair  around  them  streaming. 
In  the  twilight  idly  sit  I  dreaming. 

Idly  sitting  by  my  window,  fair  dreams  dreaming — 
Castles  proud,  white  waves,  cherub  faces  beaming, 
•Turned  to  empty  air,  like  all  earth's  dreaming; 
But  above  me,  lo!  the  stars  are  gleaming. 


Bells  of  Venice. 


BELLS  OF  VENICE. 

SILENCE  o'er  city  fair, 
Not  a  breeze  sighing, 
Silence  in  palace  old, 
At  the  day's  dying. 

Gold  in  the  sunset  sky, 

And  on  sea  lying, 
Long  lines  of  golden  light, 

Like  arrows  flying. 

Boats  on  the  paths  of  blue, 
Blue  skies  o'er  bending, 

Silence  at  sunset's  hour, 
At  the  day's  ending. 

When  lo!  the  many  bells, 
From  each  church  tower, 

Ring  out  in  melody, 
At  sunset's  hour. 

Silence  unbroken  save 
For  sweet  bells  ringing, 

As  through  the  sunset's  gate 
Day's  flight  is  winging. 


Wild  Poppies. 


BLUEBELLS. 

THE  unseen  fingers  of  the  air 
Set  all  the  bluebells  ringing. 
My  thoughts  like  birds  that  homeward  fly, 
Across  the  sea  went  winging. 

To  '  *  banks  and  braes  ' '  where  bluebells  grow, 
'  Neath  trees  where  birds  are  singing, 

Their  home  and  mine — did  others  hear 
The  bonnie  bluebells  ringing  ? 


MY  FATHER'S  SWORD. 


sheathed  in  its  scabbard  on  the  wall, 
V  __  j     Hangs,  draped  with  faded,  crimson,  silken 

sash, 

My  father's  sword.     No  longer  sabres  flash, 
Nor  cannon  flame  and  blaze  from  fortress  tall. 
Sweet  peace,  like  snowy  dove,  for  many  years, 
Has  hovered  o'er  our  land,  a  spirit  fair; 
But  in  a  single  night  my  mother's  hair 


Under  the   Pines.  7 

Was  changed  to  white;  my  face  baptized  by  tears. 
For  in  the  sunny  south  one  springtime  day, 

A  soldier  fell,  his  sword  clasped  in  his  hand. 

The  wild  birds  sang  as  blithe  as  e'  er  before, 
And  apple  blossoms  crowned  the  joyous  May. 

Upon  a  home  in  the  far  northern  land, 

A  shadow  fell,  that  lifted  nevermore. 


UNDER  THE  PINES. 

BEFORE  the  grate  in  the  firelight, 
On  the  night  when  the  year  grows  old, 
Watching  the  smoke  curl  phantom-like, 
And  the  coals  turn  to  living  gold, 

I  sit  and  dream  as  I  listen 

To  sweet  clamor  of  New  Year's  chimes, 
And  whisper  low  the  vows  I  made 

In  the  moonlight,  under  the  pines. 

I  have  left  the  dazzling  ball-room ; 

Decked  in  jewels  that  brightly  gleam, 
In  my  dress  of  pearl-white  satin, 

I  have  come  to  my  room  to  dream. 


Wild  Poppies. 

I  have  left  music  and  dancing, 

The  soft,  perfumed,  tropical  air, 
The  eyes  and  the  voices  that  told  me; 
"The  Rose  of  the  Mountains,  is  fair." 

Once  more  I  am  Mabel;  daughter 

Of  "Old  Ben"  of  the  "Blue  Bird  Claim;" 
I  hear  my  boy  lover  asking: 
' '  Wild  Rose,  will  you  love  me  the  same 

When  you  go  with  your  father's  sister 

To  the  city  so  far  away  ? 
Will  my  ' '  Blue  Bird ' '  of  the  mountains 

Come  back  to  the  home  nest,  some  day  ?  ' ' 

Upon  our  sure-footed  ponies, 

Up  the  zigzag  canon  wild, 
We  had  wandered  to  gather  flowers, 

In  the  twilight  of  springtime  mild. 

The  giant  peaks  in  the  gloaming 
Seemed  touching  the  shining  stars; 

The  moonlight  upon  the  pine  trees 
Turned  their  branches  to  golden  bars. 

I  answered,  with  hand  uplifted, 
* '  Just  as  long  as  the  North  Star  shines, 
I  will  keep  the  vows  I  made  you 
In  the  moonlight,  under  the  pines. 


The  Old  Slave's  Lament. 

So  I've  left  the  dazzling  ball-room, 
Decked  in  jewels  that  brightly  gleam, 

In  my  dress  of  pearl-white  satin, 
I  have  come  to  my  room  to  dream. 

I  kneel  in  the  glowing  firelight, 
As  I  listen  to  New  Year's  chimes, 

And  whisper  low  the  vows  I  made, 
In  the  moonlight,  under  the  pines. 


THE  OLD  SLAVE'S  LAMENT. 

THAR  was  singin' ,  thar  was  dancin' 
In  de  little  cabins,  long  ago; 
An'  cotton  growin'  in  de  fields 
As  white  as  northern  snow. 
In  Massa's  house  lights  twinkled, 

And  de  young  folks  danced — ho!  ho! 
Reckon  de  likes  ob  dose  good  times 
Pore  ole  Pete  will  neber  know. 

'  Spec  de  birds  do  all  de  singin' , 

An'  de  sunshine  all  de  dancin'  on  de  floor: 
An'  de  lights  go  twinkle,  twinkle, 

In  Massa's  house  no  more. 


io  Wild  Poppies. 

Ole  Pete  is  sometimes  hungry, 
But  he'll  let  the  chilluns  know, 

Thar  was  singin' ,  thar  was  dancin' 
In  de  cabins  long  ago. 


FISHING. 

THE  moonlight  cold  and  still 
In  net-like  golden  bars, 
Lies  on  the  waters  blue 
To  catch  reflected  stars. 


ALL  SOULS'  EVE. 

JAM  all  alone  in  my  room  to-night; 
It  is  "All  Souls'  Eve"  when  they  say  the  dead 
For  a  single  night  can  walk  the  earth 

And  then  go  back  to  their  lone  church-yard  bed. 

Outside  of  the  house  the  autumn  winds  blow ; 

(Do  I  hear  the  sound  of  the  garden  gate  ?  ) 
I  have  decked  the  room  with  flowers  they  loved, 

And  placed  a  warm  mat  before  the  bright  grate. 


All  Souls'  Eve.  n 

Down  memory's  pathway  they  come  to  me; 

My  soldier  father,  and  close  by  his  side, 
My  golden-haired  mother,  who  left  her  child, 

When  the  cruel  word  came  that  he  had  died. 

With  only  Carlo,  my  St.  Bernard  friend, 
I  was  left  alone  in  the  cold,  world  wide; 

My  dog  was  sent  to  the  holy  monks 

To  save  men  lost  on  the  bleak  mountain's  side. 

I  knelt  sad  before  the  crucifix  white,    . 

And  cried;  "O  Mother,  I  am  all  alone! 
There  is  no  one  to  love  me;  let  me  go 

To-night  with  you  to  your  heavenly  home." 

I  heard  the  sound  of  the  garden  gate,  and 
' '  Bernadine,  Bernadine  listen  to  me, 

I,  Victor,  swear  true  by  the  holy  dead, 
Of  all  the  wide  world  I  love  but  thee." 


12  Wild  Poppies. 


APPLE  BLOSSOMS. 

SHE  gave  him  an  apple  blossom 
One  day  in  the  sweet  springtime, 
She  did  not  know  its  meaning, 

That  it  whispered  "  My  heart  is  thine." 

But  someway  her  love  had  wandered 
Away  from  one  stern  and  cold, 

As  dainty,  pink-white  blossoms 
Drift  away  from  apple  trees  old. 

And  he  read  the  old  sweet  story 
In  glance  of  her  blue  eyes  meek, 

And  pink  of  apple  blossoms 
As  it  flitted  across  her  cheek. 


The  Soldier's  Son.  13 


THE  SOLDIER'S  SON. 

Read  at  a  banquet  of  California  Comandery,  Loyal  Legion,  by  Col.  W. 
R.  Smedberg,  Recorder. 

IN  the  sunset's  glory  they  stand 
Together,  the  heroes  in  blue; 
The  slanting  sunbeams  rest  on  their  arms, 
And  the  mystic  river's  in  view. 

To  the  other  side  their  comrades 

Have  crossed  at  the  word  of  command, 

And  brighter  far  than  earth's  laurel  wreaths 
Are  the  crowns  of  that  martyr  band. 

There  is  one  who  died  long  ago, 

Who  for  freedom  his  young  life  gave; 

Each  springtime  by  loving  hands  are  placed 
Fair  flowers  on  that  soldier's  grave. 

In  a  shadowed  home,  on  the  wall, 
Hangs  the  sword  he  wielded  so  well; 

His  gold-barred  shoulder-straps  are  kept 
That  he  wore  on  the  day  he  fell. 

To-night  his  son  at  your  hands,  craves 
The  cross  to  be  placed  on  his  breast, 

The  badge  that  his  father's  valor  won, 
The  soldier  long  gone  to  his  rest. 


14  Wild  Poppies. 


UP  FROM  THE  SEA. 

WRAPPED  in  the  cold,  silver  mist  so  white, 
Up  from  the  sea  come  the  silent  dead; 

Through  streets  of  the  city  with  noiseless  tread, 
They  wander  together — 'tis  All  Souls'  Night. 
One  looks  in  the  window,  where  long  ago 

Beloved  at  the  hearthstone  she  had  a  place, 

And  she  gazes  long  at  a  manly  face. 
I  love  you,  my  husband, ' '  she  murmurs  low. 
Men  shuddering  hurry  along  the  street; 

They  shiver  at  touch  of  the  cold  white  mist, 

And  they  long  for  the  morning's  warm   sunlight; 
They  know  not  'tis  spirit  they  love  they  meet, 

They  feel  a  horror  they  cannot  resist, 

Forgetting,  alas!   it  is  All  Souls'  Night. 


My  Playmate.  15 


NIGHT'S  CANDLES   ARE   BURNED   OUT." 

LAST  night  when  stars  were  lighted  one  by  one, 
Eyes  blue  as  summer  skies, 
And  bright  like  stars  that  shine — 

Dear  dying  eyes — 
Looked  into  mine. 


Night's  candles  are  burned  out;"   the  day  is  here; 

The  radiant  blue  eyes 
So  bright,  like  stars  that  shone — 

See  fairer  skies; 
I  am  alone. 


MY  PLAYMATE. 

I  WILL  come  on  a  coal  black  horse, 
I  will  come  in  ten  years,  Fay, 
When  the  apple  blossoms  are  pink  and  white, 
In  the  merrie  month  of  May." 


1  6  Wild  Poppies. 

'Twas  my  little  playmate  who  spoke. 

I  was  eight  years  old  that  day. 
We  stood  in  the  orchard  under  the  trees; 

He  was  soon  going  away. 

Far  away  from  the  sea-swept  coast, 

Far  beyond  mountains  and  plains, 
To  where  rivers  rolled  over  sands  of  gold, 

And  mountains  had  golden  veins. 

He  said:   "  To  the  sunset  I'll  ride; 

I  shall  never  lose  my  way; 
Remember  and  watch  when  the  apple  trees  bloom, 

In  the  merrie  month  of  May. 

When  my  playmate  left  me  for  school, 
From  his  small  blouse,  blue  and  white, 

He  brushed  away  just  a  few  boyish  tears, 
Then  he  vanished  from  my  sight. 


In  front  of  our  cabin  I  stand, 
My  home  on  the  mountain-side, 

In  one  hand  are  blossoms  of  wild  plum  trees 
From  the  canon,  deep  and  wide. 

With  my  other  hand  I  now  shade 

My  eyes  from  the  eastern  sun, 
And  look  for  a  rider  on  a  black  horse, 

I'm  sure  my  playmate  will  come. 


Love's  Immortality.  17 


LOVE'S  IMMORTALITY. 

IN  far-off  classic  land, 
Blazing  torch  in  her  hand, 
On  a  high  tower, 
Stood  Hero,  young  and  fair, 
With  halo  of  bright  hair, 
At  the  midnight  hour. 

Out  on  the  inky  night 
Fluttered  the  red  torchlight, 

To  guide  her  lover; 
Flaring  in  the  keen  blast, 
Then  lost,  like  star  o'  ercast, 

Held  high  above  her. 

Not  half  a  year  ago 

In  vestal  robes,  like  snow, 

To  sound  of  lyres, 
Upon  the  altar  bright 
On  Venus'  festal  night, 

She  fed  the  fires. 

Child  of  a  noble  Greek, 
With  face  of  virgin  meek, 

Eyes  of  heaven's  blue; 
Mid  clouds  of  incense  rare, 
She  stood,  a  priestess  fair, 

To  the  Goddess  true. 


1 8  Wild  Poppies. 

Love  made  her  vows  as  naught, 
Sweet  lesson  she  was  taught 

In  one  short  hour. 
Dark  eyes  of  Thracian  youth 
Told  her  the  wonderous  truth 

Of  love's  grand  power. 

Banished  to  island  lone 
To  castle  ivy  grown, 

Alone  they  left  her. 
Love  can  bridge  waters  wide, 
So,  soon  to  Hero's  side 

Came  young  Leander. 

Swimming  the  Helespont 
Nightly  became  his  wont 

To  Hero's  tower. 
First  by  the  full-moon's  light, 
Making  a  pathway  bright 

At  moon-rise  hour. 

But  came  a  stormy  night 
With  lightnings  flashing  bright 

And  sad  winds  wailing. 
Moonless  and  starless  sky, 
Black  clouds  o'er  gray  sky  fly; 

Pirate  ships  sailing. 


Love's  Immortality.  19 

Love  can  make  darkness  light; 
Out  on  the  stormy  night 

Hero's  torch  flashes. 
Leander  sees  the  gleam 
And  in  the  angry  stream 

Heedlessly  dashes. 

Pitiless  breakers  roar 
Louder  than  e'er  before 

Seem  to  the  swimmer. 
Darker  the  gray  sky  grows, 
Wilder  the  storm  wind  blows; 

Hero's  light  dimmer. 

She  from  her  tower  prays 
Goddess  of  her  young  days 

To  save  her  lover. 
Brighter  the  lightnings  flash, 
Louder  the  breakers  dash; 

No  stars  above  her. 


Down  on  the  rocks  below, 
Mid  breakers  white  as  snow, 

There  he  lies  dying. 
Down  to  his  side  she  leaps, 
Torch  in  her  hand  she  keeps; 

Meteor  flying. 


20  Wild  Poppies. 

Long  line  of  golden  light, 
Lighting  fair  Hero's  flight, 

Through  death's  dark  portal. 
Such  love  that  does  not  shrink, 
Even  from  death's  dread  brink, 

Must  be  immortal. 


HOW  SHALL  JEANNE  D'ARC  BE  PAINTED? 

A 5  child  shall  she  be  painted,  watching  her  father's 
flock's, 

Wandering  among  the  lambs,  the  gentlest  there; 
Green  summer  fields,  wild-flowers,  a  few  tall  trees, 
A  crown  of  golden  buttercups  upon  her  hair  ? 

Or  shall  Jeanne  be  painted  as  a  warrior  in  armor 
Leading    to    battle    soldiers,    though   but   maiden 
fair; 

Riding  on  plunging  war-horse,  a  lone  guiding  star, 
Helmet  in  place  of  buttercups  upon  her  hair  ? 

Or  in  the  market-place  of  Rouen  shall  he  paint  her, 
Bound  to  a  stake,  with  cruel  chains,  her  life  work 
done; 

Faggots  and  tiny  wings  of  fire  about  her 

Crowned  with  a  halo  by  the  golden  setting  sun  ? 


"fe   Te  Rejoins^  21 

No.  Let  the  artist  paint  her  as  she  listens — 

Listens  to  whisperings  from  the  far  heavens  blue; 

Voices  unheard  save  by  the  Maid  of  Orleans, 

Telling  Jeanne  d' Arc  the  mighty  work  she  has  to  do. 


"JE  TE  REJOINS." 

Suggested  by  the  suicide  of  an  aged  French  florist,  upon  the  grave  of 
his  wife. 

I  CANNOT  live  without  thee," 
Were  the  words  I  whispered  to  thee,  dear  one, 
In  our  bright  sunny  France,  long  years  ago, 
When  we  were  young,  and  thou  wert  fair  to  me. 
Sweetheart,  I  loved  thee  so, 
And  now,  "  I  go  to  thee. ' ' 

"  I  cannot  live  without  thee." 
Bright  flowers  I  have  laid  upon  thy  grave 
For  many  and  many  a  dreary  day. 
Without  thee  life  has  no  more  charm  for  me; 
Bereft  I  cannot  stay, 
And  so  "I  go  to  thee." 

' ' I  cannot  live  without  thee. ' ' 
The  key  of  death  I  hold  within  my  hand; 
Alone  beside  thy  grave  in  church-yard  drear, 
God  pity,  pardon  if  I  use  the  key; 
Earth  vanishes  away; 
And  thus,  "  I  go  to  thee." 


22  Wild  Poppies. 


AN  APRIL  SNOW-FLAKE. 

THE  apple  blossoms  held  pink- white  cups 
To  catch  the  April  shower; 
When  from  the  sky  came  floating  down 
A  tiny  crystal  flower. 
It  was  only  a  little  snow-flake  white, 
But  the  sun  peeped  out  from  behind  a  cloud 
And  it  turned  to  a  jewel  bright; 
In  another  moment  the  jewel  bright 
Was  changed  to  a  tear  in  the  flower  cup  white. 


THE  OLD  WAR  HORSE. 

OH !   never  again  to  march  at  the  head  of  a  col 
umn; 
Only  to  graze  in  the  field  at  the  edge  of  woods  solemn 

Only  to  drink   at   the   moss-covered   trough   in   the 

meadow; 
Only  to  stand  in  the  sunshine  and  then  in  the  shadow. 


The  Old   War  Horse.  23 

Aye!  once  more  to  march  at  the  head  of  a  warlike 

column, 
Leading    veterans   and    soldiers   marching   to   music 

solemn. 

Soldiers  marching  to  decorate  graves,  carrying  flowers, 
Passed  fields  where  "  Old  Joe"  roamed  alone  through 
long  summer  hours. 

Back   turned    the  ears  of  the  war  horse   at   martial 

strains  sounding, 
Forward  his  ears,   a  step,   then  into  the  dusty  road 

bounding, 

Pawing  the  air,  and  then  wheeling,  and  leading  the 

column, 
Tears  starting  to  eyes  and  hats  raised  at  a  sight  so 

solemn. 

Tears  to  the  memory  of  their  Colonel,  young,  loved 

and  brave; 
Whom  ' '  Old  Joe ' '  bore  long  ago  to  battle,  and  to 

his  grave. 


24  Wild  Poppies. 


HOPE. 

OUT  on  the  sea,  out  on  the  sea  in  a  storm; 
Lightning  flashing  and  cutting  like  swords  the 

inky  black  sky; 
Down  in  the  trough  of  the  sea,  then  lifted  by  waves 

mountains  high, 

Rides  a  ship,  alone  in  the  tempest;  destruction  is  nigh. 
"  Down  with  the  anchor,"  the  Captain's  cry. 

Like  a  tired  bird,  a  bird  with  its  wings  at  rest, 
Swinging  at  anchor  on  watery  waste,  'neath  bright- 

'ning  sky, 
The  stately  ship  rides;  like  flags  of  gold  on  the  three 

masts  high 
Sunbeams  gaily  flutter;    winds  whisper,  "The  haven 

is  nigh." 
"Anchored  steadfast  and  sure,"  the  glad  cry. 

Out  on  the  sea,  on  the  troubled  sea  of  life; 
Lightning  flashing  and  cutting  like  swords  the  inky 

black  sky; 
Down  in  the  depths  of  woe,  lashed  by  the  cruel  waves 

so  high, 

Drifting  along,  gladness  so  far  away,  despair  so  nigh; 
"  Hope  the  soul's  anchor,"  our  Captain's  cry. 


Wild  Roses.  25 


WILD  ROSES. 

TO-night  before  the  bright  foot-lights, 
Decked  with  jewels  that  flash  and  gleam, 
In  robe  of  velvet  and  ermine, 
I  played  the  part  of  a  queen. 

Far  upward  my  voice  soared  bird-like, 
'  Till  it  seemed  to  reach  the  blue  sky, 

Then  changed  to  notes,  low  and  plaintive, 
Like  the  soft  summer's  wind  low  sigh. 

Before  me  were  beautiful  women, 
The  courtly,  the  stately,  the  grand; 

There  were  men  of  wealth  and  fashion 
Who  had  begged  me  for  my  hand. 

At  my  feet  fell  fairest  of  flowers 

That  perfumed  the  tropical  air, 
In  one  was  hidden  a  jewel 

That  shone  in  the  gaslight's  bright  glare. 

Some  one  tossed  a  few  wild  roses, 
But  little  the  dazzling  crowd  guessed 

Why  I  left  the  others  unnoticed 

And  fondly  clasped  them  to  my  breast. 


26  Wild  Poppies. 

Again  I  was  poor  little  Inez, 

The  fisherman's  child  by  the  sea; 

The  cluster  of  wild  pink  roses 

Brought  a  moonlight  picture  to  me. 

The  round  moon  upon  the  waters 
Made  a  pathway  of  golden  light, 

Across  it  a  ship  was  sailing — 
I  was  watching  it  out  of  sight. 

In  that  brave  ship  my  boy  lover 
Sailed  away  out  into  the  night; 

I  held  in  my  hand  wild  roses, 

As  I  watched  it  vanish  from  sight. 

To-night,  not  knowing,  not  dreaming, 
I  sang  to  one,  just  home  from  sea; 

'  Twas  the  hand  of  my  boy  lover 
Tossed  the  sweet  wild  roses  to  me. 


Snow  on  the  Plains.  27 


SNOW  ON  THE  PLAINS. 

LAST  night  across  the  glory  of  the  sky,  purple 
clouds  lay; 
The  gray-brown,  arid  plains  wandered  away  and  met 

the  sunset  bright. 
Like   rusted   blades  the  lush   grass  rustled  in  the 

balmy  air. 
The   sage-brush  in   the  gloaming  seemed  like  timid 

deer  in  flight, 

Or  Indians,  with  feathers  twined  in  their  long  float 
ing  hair. 

Thus  through  the  sunset's  golden  gates,  went  out 
the  autumn  day. 

Lo !  in  the  night,  the  miracle  of  snow  was  wrought 

anew. 
The  gray-brown,  arid  plains  were  changed  to  marble 

pavements  white; 
Each  rusty,  rustling  blade-like  frosted  fretted  silver 

shone; 
Each  bush  was  turned  to  sculptured  Indian,  or  deer  in 

flight. 
Autumn  had  vanished,  and  cold,  ice-crown  winter 

reigned  alone; 
And  over  allwas  spread  a  canopy  of  deepest  blue. 


28  Wild  Poppies. 


AWAY  FROM  HOME. 

BEAUTIFUL  butterfly  brown  and  white, 
With  spots  of  black  and  gold, 
Why  are  you  here  in  the  city's  street; 
The  city  so  sombre  and  old  ? 

The  roses  red  and  the  roses  white 

That  climb  on  the  granite  wall, 
To  my  clover  field  a  message  sent, 

And  I  came  at  their  loving  call. ' ' 


POEM. 

Read  at  a  banquet  of  California  Commandery,  Loyal  Legion,  on  the 
occasion  of  their  twenty-first  anniversary.  At  Mare  Island  Navy  Yard, 
May  3d,  1892. 

SING  comrades,  sing  of  peace 
Glad  songs  to-night; 
Banished  be  grim  war's  face, 
Far  from  our  sight. 

Forget  the  cannon's  roar, 

The  sabre's  flash, 
The  flag  low  in  the  dust, 

The  rifle's  crash. 


Poem.  29 


Forget  the  weary  march, 

The  bugle  call; 
Forget  the  empty  sleeve, 

The  prison  wall. 

Drink  to  the  dear  old  flag, 
The  stripes  and  stars; 

Drink  to  the  veterans  brave, 
Covered  with  scars. 

In  silence,  with  bowed  heads, 

Drink  to  the  dead 
Left  on  the  battle  field 

When  all  had  fled. 

Drink  to  a  land  at  peace 
From  shore  to  shore, 

Heart  to  heart,  hand  to  hand, 
Forevermore. 


30  Wild  Poppies. 


FOUND. 

I  WATCH  the  tender  leaves,  this  April  day  unfolding, 
And  look  upon  the  shadows  flitting  o'er  the  lawn, 
And  I  see  children's  faces,  bright  and  winning — 
The  faces  of  my  darlings,  long,  long  gone. 

The  first  I  see  is  Baby  in  his  dimpled  sweetness, 

Blue  eyes,  white  face  and  little  rings  of  curling  hair; 

I  hold  my  hands  out  to  embrace  him  fondly — 
Alas!  they  only  meet  the  empty  air. 

Again  I  feel  a  chubby  hand  mine  tightly  holding, 
And  guide  two  wee  feet  trying  hard  to  cross  the  floor, 

To  see  dear  faithful  Carlo  soundly  sleeping, 
In  the  warm  sunshine  just  outside  the  door. 

In  sailor  suit  and  hat,  with  many  happy  children, 
I  see  my  schoolboy  coming  down  the  village  street; 

His  hair  wind-tossed,  his  glowing  cheeks  like  roses — 
Again  my  schoolboy  I  shall  never  greet. 

Away,  away  with  all  my  sweetly  tender  dreaming; 

I  hear  a  bounding  step  upon  the  oaken  stair; 
I  look  into  the  blue  eyes  bending  o'  er  me — 

My  baby,  toddler,  schoolboy,  all  are  there. 


The  Crystal  Bells  of  Santa  Helena.  31 


THE  CRYSTAL  BELLS  OF  SANTA  HELENA. 

IN  a  garden  upon  a  cliff 
High  above  the  fair  southern  seas, 
Hang  crystal  bells,  with  silver  tongues, 
On  branches  of  olive  trees. 

In  the  sunlight  down  on  the  beach, 

Play  the  tiny  rippling  waves, 
And  breakers  dash  against  the  rocks, 

And  thunder  in  ocean  caves. 

But  the  winds  are  asleep  the  while, 
And  the  crystal  bells  idly  hang, 

As  if  out  on  the  southern  sea 
They  never  in  melody  rang. 

When  lo!  from  the  bright  golden  west, 
Where  the  sky  and  the  waters  meet, 

Came  a  breeze  from  a  tropic  land, 

And  the  bells  rang  out  clear  and  sweet. 

So  many  a  heart  that  was  mute 
Like  the  bells  on  the  olive  trees, 

At  the  voice  of  love  rings  out  clear 
As  the  bells  at  the  southern  breeze. 


32  Wild  Poppies. 


ANCESTOR  MINE. 

HE  hangs  upon  the  wall  ancestor  mine; 
No  powdered  wig,  nor  queue  with  ribbon  tied. 

No  ruffled  shirt,  nor  shoes  with  buckles  wide, 
No  dangling  sword,  he  wears,  or  feathers  fine. 
No  knighted  hero  he  of  wars  long  past; 

He  sits  in  tiny  elbow  chair  of  old, 

A  little  boy  with  hair  of  shining  gold: 
In  dimpled  hand  a  crimson  whip  holds  fast, 
A  suit  of  mauve,  with  frills  of  dainty  lace, 

Bright  scarlet  shoes,  a  brooch  of  jewels  rare; 

His  sweet  young  self  looks  out  of  ancient  frame 
With  eyes  of  deepest  blue — a  soulful  face; 
A  gentle  mouth,  yet  firm,  and  face  most  fair; 

My  great-great-grandfather,  the  wee  one's  name. 


THE  ASTRONOMER'S  WIFE. 

I  WANT  to  thread  the  golden  stars, 
A  necklace  bright  to  wear. 
Iwant  a  diadem  of  stars, 
To  rest  upon  my  hair. 


The  Astronomer's    Wife.  33 

I  want  a  dress  from  cobwebs  spun, 

Flecked  o'er  with  tiny  stars. 
I'd  be  a  constellation  new, 

Quite  near  to  fiery  Mars. 

My  hair,  like  flying  meteor, 

Should  float  out  into  space; 
The  moon,  like  fan  from  far  Japan, 

I'd  hold  before  my  face. 

Then  he  I  love,  who  now  forgets, 

Would  gaze  on  me  each  night; 
He'd  sweep  the  sky  with  telescope, 

Of  me  to  catch  a  sight. 

And  there  I  would  contented  lie 

Up  in  the  sky  of  blue, 
Discovered  first  by  him  I  love, 

A  constellation  new. 

He  then  would  think  of  me  alway; 

Would  give  me  his  dear  name; 
I'd  bring  to  my  astronomer, 

Oh,  joy!  renown  and  fame. 


34  Wild  Poppies. 


THE  PAGAN  GIRL'S  PRAYER  TO  THE  SUN. 
(B.  c.  500) 

OSUN,  thou  God  who  for  ages  my  people 
Have  worshiped,  low  in  the  sky,  o'er  the  sea 
There  thou  hangest,  a  red  ball  of  fire, 
Tarry,  oh  tarry,  and  listen,  I  pray  thee. 

Thou  who  lightest  up  dark  places  with  sunbeams, 
Thou  who  paintest  the  flowers  and  rainbows, 

Thou  who  fillest  with  sunlight  o'erflowing 
The  cup  of  the  lotus,  list  to  my  sorrows. 

O  bright  sun,  thou  hast  left  me;  thou  hast  fallen 
Down  into  the  waves.     Thy  blood  stains  the  sky 

In  the  west,  and  lies  red  on  the  waters. 

Thou  heardst  not  my  sorrow,  nor  answered  my  cry. 


A  VIGNETTE. 

LIKE  Italian  portrait  by  master's  hand 
Or  clear  cut  cameo,  a  face 
That  in  my  beautiful,  ideal  world, 
In  my  castle  has  a  place. 


Waiting  for  Colin.  35 


WAITING  FOR  COLIN. 

1AM  growing  old,  my  hair 
Once  so  golden,  is  now  white  like  snow, 
And  I  live  in  the  far  away  past, 
The  beautiful  long  ago. 

Oft-times  I  stand  at  the  door 

Of  the  farm-house,  my  earliest  home; 

The  sun  is  sinking  behind  the  hills; 
I  wait  for  Colin  to  come. 

Again  I  am  little  May, 

When  I  stand  on  the  doorsteps  so  high, 
The  hollyhocks,  covered  with  crimson  flowers, 

Are  half  a  head  taller  than  I. 

The  wind  the  red  clover  sweeps, 

And  the  tinkling  of  bells  I  can  hear, 

The  cows  down  the  hillsides  are  coming  now; 
I  know  that  Colin  is  near. 


He  was  true  to  me  'till  death. 

Now  he  dwells  in  the  world  of  light. 
I  have  been  lonely  for  many  years, 

But  Colin  seems  near  me  to-night. 


36  Wild  Poppies. 

I  wait  for  Colin  alway. 

He  will  come  when  the  sunset  is  bright; 
Again  I'll  be  his  "  own  little  May," 

And  golden  my  hair,  not  white. 


UNDER  THE  ORANGE  TREES. 

THEY  stood  at  the  evening  hour 
'  Neath  orange  blooms  sweet  and  white, 
Beside  a  tropic  sea, 

In  the  sunset's  golden  light. 

He  gave  her  orange  blossoms, 

Oh!  mockery  in  the  thought; 
She  was  bound  by  iron  fetters; 

Their  sweetness  counted  for  naught. 

The  snowy,  waxen  blossoms, 

Nestling  fondly  side  by  side, 
Should  rest  on  other  tresses, 

She  could  never  be  his  bride. 


The  Old  "Hartford."  37 


THE  OLD  "  HARTFORD." 

SAILING  out  on  the  waters  blue 
Of  the  San  Francisco  bay, 
Under  the  flag  they  fought  to  save, 
On  their  anniversary  day, 

The  heroes  passed  the  old  "  Hartford,' 
Stripped  of  her  warlike  signs, 

And  to  those  loyal  hearts  there  came 
Memories  of  olden  times. 

There  was  one  among  the  number 
Brushed  away  a  starting  tear, 

As  he  thought  of  Fort  St.  Philip 
And  the  fate  that  then  seemed  near. 

From  the  ancient  ship  at  anchor 
Sailors  waved  the  Union  Jack, 

Fastened  well  to  unused  ramrod; 
Then  for  answer  went  floating  back, 

On  the  breeze  the  Nation's  Anthem, 
Sweeping  o'er  the  waters  blue, 

In  honor  of  the  old  "  Hartford," 
From  the  veterans,  tried  and  true. 


38  Wild  Poppies. 


SHADOW  LAND. 

INTO  shadow  land  I  wandered, 
Led  by  twilight's  hand, 
Gently  from  the  sunset  golden, 
Into  that  drear  land. 

Dusky  shadows  all  about  me 

Whispered  sad  and  low, 
Saying  I  should  walk  forever 

In  their  vale  of  woe. 

Telling  on  my  life  forever 

Would  their  darkness  stay, 
As  across  the  threat' ning  heavens 

Then  a  dark  cloud  lay. 

Half  despairing  wildly  cried  I 

To  the  sombre  night: 
Take  me  from  the  gloomy  shadows 

To  the  blessed  light." 

Lo!  the  clouds  were  fringed  with  moonlight: 

Joy,   O  soul  of  mine! 
There  can  never  be  dark  shadows 

Save  where  light  does  shine. 


Wild  Poppies.  39 


WILD  POPPIES. 

THE    STATE    FLOWER   OF   CALIFORNIA. 

BEAUTIFUL,  golden  wild  poppies, 
That  nod  in  the  soft,  balmy  air, 
Well  were  you  chosen  the  emblem 
Of  the  land  of  all  lands  most  fair. 

Who  planted  you,  golden  poppies  ? 

Were  you  here  when  the  world  was  new  ? 
Were  you  painted  by  the  morning  ? 

Do  you  mirror  the  sunset's  hue? 

Do  you  grow  from  seeds  of  bright  gold 
That  are  hidden  away  from  sight  ? 

Are  you  stars  come  down  from  the  sky 
That  shine  in  the  radiant  light  ? 

Are  you  golden  cups  o'erflowing 
With  jewels  of  rain-drops  and  dew  ? 

Why  are  you  so  constant- hearted 
To  the  State  that  has  chosen  you  ? 

With  gold  you  carpet  the  meadows, 

Like  the  gold  paved  "Land  of  the  Blest,'1 

Wild  poppies — the  flower  emblem 

Of  the  State  of  "  The  golden  West." 


40  Wild  Poppies. 


THE  KING'S  RETURN. 

IN     MEMORY     OF     KALAKAUA. 

ON  the  throbbing  heart  of  the  tropic  sea, 
Like  lilies,  the  fair  islands  lay, 
Half  asleep  in  the  sun. 

The  winds  seemed  to  sing, 
' '  We  wait  for  our  king. ' ' 

The  spray,  like  numberless  pearls,  on  the  shore 
Is  cast  by  the  generous  hand 
Of  the  blue  southern  sea. 

The  waves  seem  to  sing; 
"  We  wait  for  our  king." 

There  are  beautiful  bridges  of  rainbows, 
Fair  nature's  triumphal  arches 
Of  sunbeams  and  spray  drops. 

Sea-nymphs  seem  to  sing; 
"  We  wait  for  our  king." 

Under  the  feathery  cocoanut  trees, 
Shading  eyes  from  the  eastern  sun, 
Stand  subjects  most  loyal — 

The  birds  seem  to  sing; 
' '  We  wait  for  our  king. ' ' 


The  King's  Return.  41 

In  the  fair  island  city  flags  flutter 
Like  tropical  birds  in  the  air, 
And  music  is  sounding; 

Each  face  seems  to  sing; 
"  We  wait  for  our  king." 

In  the  heart  of  the  queen  in  the  palace 
What  rapture  to  welcome  the  loved 
Once  again  to  his  home. 
What  joy  thus  to  sing; 

'  *  We  wait  for  our  king. ' ' 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Far,  far  away  out  at  sea  is  a  sail, 
Like  the  white  wing  of  a  wild  bird, 
On  the  bright  golden  sky — 

Air,  earth  and  sea  sing; 
' '  We  wait  for  our  king. ' ' 

The  wing  has  changed  to  a  bird,  then  a  ship, 
A  grand  man-of-war,  on  whose  masts 
Two  nations'  flags  flutter. 

The  ship  that  will  bring 

The  waited-for  king. 

Half-mast  are  the  flags,  draped  in  black  the  ship; 
The  sunbeams  and  rainbows  are  gone; 
The  waves  wail  and  moan; 

The  glad  song  has  fled, 

The  good  king  is  dead. 


42  Wild  Poppies. 


"SOME  ONE." 

THERE'S  something  wanting  in  the  morning, 
The  city  wears  a  sombre  look  to-day; 
Song  birds  I'll  tell  the  reason  to  you: 
'  '  Somebody  '  '  is  away. 

If  I  had  wings,  I  would  have  followed, 

And  sung  my  sweetest,  tenderest  songs,  and  gay; 
I  have  not,  and  I  am  so  lonely, 

For  "  Someone  "  is  away. 

The  air  is  full  of  hope  this  morning, 
Birds  never  sang  so  sweet  until  to-day; 

Not  one  fair  flower  had  bloomed,  I  thought, 
Since  '  '  Someone  '  '  went  away. 

If  I  had  wings,  song-birds,  I'd  fold  them; 

Here  in  the  city  I  would  rather  stay. 
I'll  whisper  low  the  reason  to  you; 

Someone"  comes  home  to-day. 


" 


Memorial  Day.  43 


CAST  ASIDE. 

A  BABY  sittting  in  the  sunshine  on  the  floor 
Tried  with  her  dimpled   hands   to   brush   the 

sunbeams  from  her  dress. 
So  sitting  in  life's  sunshine  we  oft  cast  aside 

With  thoughtless  hands,   counting  as  naught  the 
brightness  sent  to  bless. 


MEMORIAL  DAY. 

IN  a  lonely  spot  beside  the  sea, 
'  Neath  sobbing  pine  trees,  many,  many  miles  away, 

Lies  a  soldier  brave. 
Like  a  pagan  woman  to  the  sun  I  cry: 
' '  Decorate  his  grave. ' ' 

"  O  sun  send  down  your  beams  most  brightly; 
Make  on  that  grave,  mourned  by  the  ever  restless  sea, 

Blue  violets  grow. 
O  summer  wild  birds,  sing  o'  er  my  soldier  dead, 

A  requiem  low. 


44  Wild  Poppies. 

When  on  his  grave,  tributes  of  flowers 
His  soldier  comrades  brave  shall  place,  they'll  start  at 
sight 

Of  violets  blue; 

Nor  dream,  at  prayer  of  mine,  for  love  of  him, 
The  violets  grew. 


A  LEGEND  OF  CALVARY. 

RED-BREASTED  robin  airily  poising 
On  slender  twig  of  an  apple  tree, 
From  far  away  land,  and  from  long,  long  years  past, 
You  bring  me  a  legend  of  Calvary. 

Upon  the  cross  our  Savior  was  dying, 
A  crown  of  thorns  on  His  sacred  head, 

A  little  bird  hovered  pityingly  near  Him, 

When  some  who  had  loved  Him,  foresook  him  and 
fled. 

The  little  brown  bird  from  the  cruel  crown 

A  piercing  thorn  took  gently  away, 
And  the  crimson  blood  falling  from  that  holy  brow, 

Changed  the  sombre  brown  bird  to  a  red  breast  gay. 


The  Heart's  Firelight.  45 


A  WHITE  CHRYSANTHEMUM. 

LAST  night  beside  my  hearthstone 
She  sat  in  snowy  dress, 
The  firelight  touched  her  golden  hair 
With  many  a  fond  caress. 

She  wore  white  autumn  flowers, 
Like  frozen  stars  they  seemed; 

One  flower  she  left,  else  I  should  think 
Of  angels  I  had  dreamed. 


THE  HEART'S  FIRELIGHT. 

I  SIT  beside  the  hearthstone  of  your  heart, 
A  welcome  guest. 
I  was  a  wanderer,  without  a  home; 
You  bade  me  rest. 

I  sang  bright  songs  of  hope,  I  was  so  glad 

You  bade  me  stay. 
I  fanned  the  embers  dull,  and  brighter  grew 

The  flame  each  day. 


46  Wild  Poppies. 

To  be  the  chirping  cricket  on  your  hearth 

Is  joy  to  me, 
And  you  have  promised  that  no  other  one 

Shall  ever  be, 

The  same  that  I  am  now  to  you,  dear  love, 

So  close  to  thee. 
No  other  shall  e'er  fill  the  corner  bright 

You've  given  me. 


DISCOVERY  OF  THE  SUNSHINE  MINE. 

I  HAD  left  the  tired  miners 
When  the  sun  was  turning  to  gold 
The  long  line  of  purple  mountains, 
And  the  tall  peaks  rugged  and  bold. 

I  was  just  a  toiling  miner, 

At  work  on  the  "  Eagle's  wing  claim," 
Searching,  alas!   searching  vainly, 

Yet  hoping  and  toiling  the  same. 

On  my  shoulder  pick  and  shovel, 

That  fair  day  in  early  June, 
As  I  drew  near  our  small  cabin 

I  was  whistling  a  merry  tune. 


Discovery  of  the  Sunshine  Mine.  47 

I  gleefully  called :     ' '  Come  Sunshine. ' ' 

She  was  all  in  the  world  to  me. 
( '  Where  are  you  hiding  my  Sunshine. ' ' 
Why  where  can  my  darling  child  be  ?  " 

The  sunlight  fell  on  the  cabin, 

And  danced  in  the  open  door, 
A  slanting  pathway  of  glory 

It  made  on  the  rude  wooden  floor. 

No  answer,  but  silence — silence — 

Save  the  cry  of  a  lonely  bird, 
And  the  summer  breezes  sighing 

Through  the  tree- tops  was  all  I  heard. 

But  where  was  my  little  daughter, 

My  darling  with  bright  golden  hair  ? 
' '  Where  are  you  ?     Where  are  you  Sunshine  ?  ' ' 
Then  I  cried  in  my  wild  despair. 

For  Sunshine,  my  little  daughter, 
My  one  treasure,  young  and  so  fair, 

Was  always  waiting  to  meet  me; 

The  thought  of  her  drove  away  care. 

In  yesterday's  fair  June  weather 

Up  the  canon,  rock-strewn  and  wide, 

To  find  the  first  wild  columbines, 
We  had  wandered  at  eventide. 


48  Wild  Poppies. 

As  swift  as  the  bullet  that  flies 
From  gun,  to  the  heart  of  a  deer, 

As  crushing,  stunning,  and  hopeless, 
Came  to  me  the  terrible  fear, 

That  Sunshine  in  search  of  flowers 
Up  the  trail  had  wandered  away, 

Then  I,  who  had  forgotten  God, 
In  my  agony  knelt  to  pray. 

I  thought  of  the  icy  cold  winds 
From  the  peaks  of  eternal  snow, 

Of  cruel,  prowling,  hungry  wolves, 
And  of  chasms  that  yawned  below. 

Quick,  half  dazed  and  blind,  I  stumbled 
Up  the  canon,  wild  with  despair, 

To  search  for  my  little  Sunshine 
For  my  darling  with  golden  hair. 

Heart-broken,  I  wandered  onward, 
I  begged  the  sun*longer  to  stay, 

The  night  not  to  wrap  its  black  arms 
Round  the  mountain's  dangerous  way. 

Something  bright  gleamed  just  before  me, 
Where  the  first  wild  columbines  grew; 

I  hugged  it  close  to  my  heart, 

'Twas  a  small,  worn,  copper- toed  shoe. 


Discovery  of  the  Sunshine  Mine. 

Around  a  boulder  I  hastened, 

1  flowers, 


49 


;|>ron, 

I  red  for  hours. 


ned," 
d  too; 

a 
for  you." 

laid  Sunshine, 
ed  to  run; 

mer  sun. 

stened, 

t  her  small  shoe; 

c  the  rocks 

do. 

g  quartz, 
Itolden  line; 


50  Wild  Poppies. 


A  DREAM. 

I  DREAMED  the  chariot  wheels  of  time  had  ceased 
to  roll; 

That  the  blue  heavens  were  parted  like  a  riven  scroll; 
That  holy  angels,  with  bright  shining  hair, 
Floating  about  them  in  the  summer  air, 
God's  messengers  from  the  heavenly  land, 
Had  wandered  down  to  earth  from  His  right  hand. 
The  sea  gave  up  its  dead  from  parted  waves; 
Like  lilies  fair,  the  dead  forsook  their  graves. 
My  mother,  radiant  as  evening  star, 
I  saw,  smiling  upon  me  from  afar. 
I  heard  a  voice  of  majesty  that  cried: 
"  Come  all  who  love  The  Christ,  The  Crucified." 
I  hastened  to  the  grave  of  one  I  love; 
It  was  unchanged,  the  tall  grass  waved  above, 
And  violets  still  threaded  wreaths  of  blue, 
And  sunbeams  turned  to  jewels  drops  of  dew. 
I  whispered  softly:   "  Wake  love,  come  with  me. 
'Tis  morning  love,  hasten,  I  wait  for  thee." 
I  threw  myself  upon  his  fast-sealed  grave, 
Above  the  heart  I  thought  so  good  and  brave; 
I  begged  grim  Death  his  iron  chains  to  burst; 
A  voice  proclaimed:   "  The  dead  in  Christ,  rise  first." 


A    Winter's  Day.  51 


MY  MOTHER'S  BIRTHDAY. 

TO-DAY'S  my  mother's  birthday,  yet  I  cannot  lay 
Fair  flowers  on  her  grave,  it  is  so  far  away, 
Nor  with  my  face  bent  low  among  the  daisies  wild, 
Whisper,    "I  love  you  mother,  do   you   hear  your 

child?" 

And  so  alone  I  sit  in  revery  to-night, 
And  wonder  if  earth's  birthdays  in  that  land  of  light 
They  keep,  or  count  it  life  when  through  the  pearly 

gate 

They  enter  in  the  city  paved  with  gold.  I  wait 
An  answer,  but  the  night  wind  hurries  silent  by; 
No  answer  comes  to  me  from  out  the  star-gemmed  sky. 


A  WINTER'S  DAY. 

CALIFORNIA. 

TO-DAY  I  hold  pink  rosebuds,  lilies  white, 
Dasies  and  wildwood  violets  in  my  hand; 
Dark  ivy  to  the  casement  clings; 
The  sea  a  sapphire  gleams,  an  emerald  the  land. 
A  tiny  shadow,  'tis  a  tropic  bird  in  flight, 
That  cuts  a  sunbeam  with  its  wings, 
Its  scarlet  wings, 
And  glad  song  sings. 


52  Wild  Poppies. 

Such  is  fair  California's  winter  day. 

Where  is  the  sparkling,  dazzling",  icy  crown  ? 

The  ermine  robe  on  plain  and  hill  ? 
The  last  year's  robin's  empty  nest  in  branches  brown? 
The  snow  on  trees?     The  little  snowbirds?     Flown 

away? 

The  frozen  lake  ?     The  moonlight  still  ? 
The  moonlight  still 
On  icy  hill  ? 

Where  are  the  branches  bending  'neath  the  snow  ? 
The  silver  fringe  of  icicles  upon  the  eaves  ? 

The  marble  of  the  hills  and  dells  ? 
The  north  wind  scattering  far  the  dry  brown  leaves  ? 
The   frost  upon  the   panes?     The  firelights' s  bright 

glow? 

The  merry,  merry  sound  of  bells  ? 
The  sound  of  bells 
Through  icy  dells. 

Grim  winter  heard  upon  the  mountains  tall, 
The  softly  wooing  voice  of  the  fair  tropic  sea. 

Felt  kisses  of  the  warm,  sweet  air, 
The  flower-filled  air,   that  whispered,     "  Come   with 

me." 
Dropped  ermine  robe,  let  icy  scepter  fall, 

And  stole  from  mountains  down  to  land  of  all  most 
fair; 

To  land  most  fair, 
From  icy  air. 


The  Sea  is  a  Grave  To-day.  53 


THE  SEA  IS  A  GRAVE  TO-DAY. 

THE  sea  is  a  grave  to-day; 
On  its  bosom  one  young  and  fair, 
Sleeps  the  long,  long  dreamless  sleep, 
With  seaweed  twined  in  her  hair. 

Rocked  by  the  billows  she  rests, 

And  softly  the  winds  o'er  the  deep 
Sing  of  her  who  sleeps  so  well; 
"  She  will  never  wake  to  weep." 

A  sunbeam  kissed  her  still  face, 

And  wrapped  in  the  fleecy  white  spray, 

She  sank  'neath  the  waves  she  sought; 
And  the  sea  is  a  grave  to-day. 


54  Wild  Poppies. 


MORNING  GLORIES. 

MORNING  glories  climbing 
Upward  to  greet  the  dawning, 
Sparkling  with  fair  dewdrop  jewels, 
Noon-tide  and  evening  scorning. 

Swayed  by  summer  breezes, 

Kissed  by  droning,  drowsy  bees, 

Lovingly,  gracefully  clinging 
To  branches  of  stately  trees. 

Coquetry's  the  emblem 

That  has  been  chosen  for  you; 

But  ne'er  to  radiant  morning 
Were  ever  flowers  so  true. 

For  you  fold  your  blossoms 
From  the  noonday  sun  away 

And  have  no  thought  of  aught  of  earth 
'Till  dawn  of  another  day. 


o 


One    Wild  March  Night.  55 


ONE  WILD  MARCH  NIGHT. 

NE  wild  March  night  when" the  wind  was  high 
Before  the  fire  sat  Dora  and  I. 


Grim  was  the  fireplace,  deep  and  wide, 
Two  tall  black  andirons  stood  side  by  side. 

Stories  of  goblins  and  elves  I  told 

'  Till  the  maple  logs  turned  to  living  gold. 

I  said  to  Dora :   "If  some  tiny  elf 

Should  say  you  no  longer  could  be  yourself, 

Pray  who  would  you  be,  my  love,  my  life  ?  ' ' 
She  answered:   "  I'd  be  Dick,  your  second  wife." 


56  Wild  Poppies. 


i 


A  PRINCE. 

J.    N.    E.    W. 

N  his  home  in  the  valley,  that  afar 

Like  a  dream  of  beauty,  wanders  away; 
With  background  of  mountains  that  kiss  the  sky, 
I  saw  a  young  Prince  to-day. 

The  Prince  was  enthroned  in  his  mother's  arms, 
His  beautiful  Queen,  so  winsome  and  fair, 

A  sunbeam  stole  through  the  window,  and  placed, 
A  crown  on  the  baby's  hair. 

His  cheeks  had  the  tint  of  the  pink  sea  shell 
And  his  eyes  the  look  of  the  coming  king. 

Oh!  I  wonder  did  others  see  the  crown 
I  saw,  on  the  Prince  I  sing  ? 


AWAY. 

THE  foils  are  idly  crossed  upon  the  wall, 
Tied  with  a  silken  ribbon,  soft  and  wide, 
The  color  that  his  lady  wears,  fair  blue; 

Shakespeare  much  read,  alas!  lies  tossed  aside. 


Wild  Violets.  57 

I  am  the  lady  who  the  fair  blue  wears; 

I  am  his  heroine  in  Shakespeare's  plays; 
Often  I've  wielded  one  bright  steely  foil; 

Alone  I  dream  away  the  autumn  days. 

Out  from  our  home  my  hero  brother's  gone, 
Out  to  win  bread,  perhaps  renown  and  fame; 

Life  that  was  like  one  long  bright  summer,  day, 
Never  again  can  be  to  me  the  same. 


WILD  VIOLETS. 

BECAUSE  you  mirror  the  sky 
In  colors  of  heaven's  own  blue, 
For  your  sweet  and  dainty  selves, 
Violets,  I  love  you. 

For  thoughts  of  your  forest  home, 
Its  wild  flowers  sparkling  with  dew; 

For  the  sake  of  the  giver  kind, 
Violets,  I  love  you. 


58  Wild  Poppies. 


THE  ROYAL  SUCCESSION. 

OUMMER  had  lingered  long  on  the  plains, 

O     Summer  robbed  of  her  beautiful  green; 

Heart-shaped  leaves  of  the  cottonwood  trees, 

Motionless  waited  the  autumn  wind  keen. 

Dust  and  ashes  the  gray-brown  earth  seemed; 

Birds  had  flown  southward  to  find  fresh  flowers, 
Autumn  stood  tiptoe  on  mountains  cool, 

For  summer's  reign  was  counted  by  hours. 

Passionate  summer  shed  great  burning  tears 
And  turned  the  sky  to  a  huge  black  cave, 

Where  fiery  lightning  serpents  played; 

Soon  dry  leaves  showered  on  summer's  grave. 

Lo !  in  the  morning  fair  autumn  reigned, 
An  eastern  queen  dressed  in  colors  bright, 

From  mountain  tops  like  a  goddess  fair, 

She  came  to  the  plains  in  the  soft  moonlight. 


On  the  Beach.  59 


ON  THE  BEACH. 

THE  white-crested  waves  at  my  feet 
Tossed  a  piece  of  a  ship  lost  at  sea; 
I  seized  it  quick  with  my  trembling  hands, 
Then  I  tossed  it  away  from  me. 

In  fancy  I  saw  a  proud  ship, 

Homeward  bound  from  the  bright  sunset  land, 
And  naught  was  left  of  that  white  winged  bark, 

But  the  fragment  tossed  on  the  sand. 

No  avail  to  cast  it  away, 

For  great  waves  brought  it  back  to  the  strand, 
As  memory  brings  all  our  shipwrecked  hopes, 

To  us  with  a  pitiless  hand. 


60  Wild  Poppies. 


A  VALENTINE. 

BLUE   VIOLETS   EMBLEM    OF   LOVE. 

— Language  of  Flowers. 

T    IKE  a  quiver  of  arrows  my  thoughts — 
L,    Some  are  golden,  some  silver,  some  steel, 
Alone  to-day  with  fair  Cupid's  bow 
In  my  high  eastern  window  I  kneel. 
I  wreathe  one  arrow  with  violets  blue, 
Then  I  bend  the  bow  and  it  flies  to  you. 


NEW  YEAR  FANCIES. 

rTORGETTING  the  past,  with  its  dreams 
1         That  faded  away 
Like  the  radiant  dazzling  colors  of  sunset 
That  came  not  to  stay. 

The  fleecy  white  clouds,  you  fancied 

Were  castles  most  fair 
With  towers  and  turrets,  with  banners  of  sunbeams 

Afloat  in  the  air. 


Either   Way.  61 

Forgetting  the  past,  with  its  dreams 

Like  tales  that  are  told, 
Dream  dreams  brighter,  aye  fairer  than  ever  before 

In  years  now  grown  old. 


EITHER  WAY. 

BLUE  Cloud,  an  Indian  bad, 
Paused  long  before  his  gate; 
He  had  been  drinking  whisky, 
And  stayed  out  rather  late. 

Blue  Cloud  was  always  bad, 
To-night  he  longed  to  fight; 

Alas!  poor  little  squaw 
Asleep  in  the  moonlight. 

If  she  has  gone  to  sleep 

I'll  beat  her  black  and  blue; 

If  she's  up  burning  wood, 
Why  then  I'll  beat  her  too. 

But  if  the  room  is  cold 

I'll  beat  her."     Blue  Cloud  said; 
Or  if  she  watched  not  for  me 

I'll  beat  her  sleepy  head." 


62  Wild  Poppies. 

Poor  little  dusky  squaw, 
Though  dutiful  you  be, 

You  surely  will  be  beaten. 
White  men  do  you  see  ? 


MY  NEW  ENGLAND  HOME. 

A  VISION  fair  of  a  quiet  town 
Memory  brings  to  me  to-night; 
A  town  on  the  banks  of  a  river  chill, 
Asleep  in  the  pale  moonlight. 

Tall  trees  stand  on  the  river  banks 
Mirrored  ghostly  in  depths  below; 

Green  tangled  wealth  of  blackberry  vines, 
And  golden-rod,  by  the  roadside  grow. 

Across  the  village  street  the  elms 
Whisper  together  in  voices  low, 

And  moonlight  soft  in  silvery  showers  . 
On  the  brown  earth  falls  like  snow. 

I  see  the  white  church  on  the  hill 
And  the  clock  in  its  tall  tower, 

With  its  iron  hands  together  clasped, 
As  it  tolls  the  midnight  hour. 


The  Loveliest  Picture.  63 

The  moonlight  is  fading  fast  away, 

My  home  is  now  by  a  tropic  sea; 
Outside  my  window  are  stately  palms; 

But  my  childhood's  home  is  dear  to  me. 


THE  LOVELIEST  PICTURE. 

(MABEL  M ) 

IN  an  artist's  studio  I  looked 
Upon  many  pictures,  grand  and  bold, 
On  purple  mountains  crowned  with  snow, 
And  radiant  sunsets  of  crimson  and  gold. 

I  stood  almost  entranced  before 

A  fairy-like,  far  New  England  scene; 
A  brown  road  leading,  leading  away 

Through  heart  of  a  forest  robed  in  summer's  green. 

I  felt  the  cool  moist  air  of  the  woods 
And  I  heard  a  wild  bird's  mournful  cry, 

I  saw  starry  blossoms,  nodding  ferns, 

And  could  hear  a  tiny  brook  murmuring  by. 

I  turned  from  painted  canvas,  and  lo! 

A  lovely,  living  picture  was  there, 
A  little  maiden,  only  just  seven, 

Gracefully  poised,  and  with  sweet  childish  air. 


64  Wild  Poppies. 

From  under  her  wide  felt  hat  she  gave 
Coquettish  glances  from  sparkling  eyes, 

Like  wild  pink  roses  her  dimpled  cheeks, 
Her  eyes  were  the  color  of  soft  azure  skies. 

"  Life's  Morning,"  seemed  her  beautiful  face, 
On  which  rested  no  shadow  of  care, 

Each  canvas  showed  a  master's  touch, 

But  I  thought  her  the  loveliest  picture  there. 


A  PRAYER. 

CHRIST  pity  all  sailors  to-night 
\^t     On  the  tempest-tossed  sea. 
Say  ' c  peace  ' '  to  the  storm, 
The  waves  obey  Thee. 

I  hear  the  sea  lash  the  great  rocks. 

Stars  are  hidden  from  sight, 
The  winds  wail  and  moan; 

Christ  keep  all  to-night. 

My  heart  bird-like  flies  to  a  ship 

Far  away  out  at  sea; 
Oh  pity!  and  bring 

My  sailor  to  me, 


In  the  Gloaming.  65 

Or  out  on  the  wings  of  the  storm 

Send  my  soul  to  his  side, 
Forever  to  be 

In  heaven  his  bride. 


IN  THE  GLOAMING. 

I  SAW  you  in  the  gloaming, 
When,  wrapped  in  silver  mist,  the  city 
Like  a  fair  bride  stood  in  fleecy  veil. 
No  sun,  no  stars,  only  the  cold  grey  fog; 
Even  the  winds  had  ceased  to  sob  and  wail. 
Now  you  are  real  to  me, 
While  I  am  still,  and  ever  must  be, 
Like  the  cold  mist,  silvery  white, 
That  melts  away  so  soon  at  the  sun's  kiss — 
That  ghost-like  glides  away  at  morning's  light. 


66  Wild  Poppies. 


COMPENSATION. 

DARK  clouds  rolled  over  the  sky, 
And  but  one  star  could  I  see; 
I  cried  in  my  wild  despair: 

' '  Let  the  bright  star  shine  for  me. ' ' 

But  the  purple  clouds  rolled  on 
And  hid  the  star  from  my  sight, 

When  lo!  where  the  clouds  had  been 
The  fair  moon  was  shining  bright. 


A  CIGARETTE. 

THE  day  is  dying.     In  the  western  sky 
The  sun  still  lingers,  brightness  lies  on  waves, 
The  fallen  shield  of  day.     There  comes  to  me 
A  vision  fair,  as  curling  mist-wreaths  fly 
Across  the  sun  like  puffs  of  smoke.     There  lies 
Upon  the  window-sill  a  cigarette. 
A  tiny  thing  from  Egypt  far,  and  yet, 
The  lotus  floating  on  the  Nile,  blue  skies, 


Waiting  at  the  Gate.  67 

Tall  palms,  and  faces  dark,  fade  fast  away; 
And  Venice  rises  up  from  waves  of  blue, 
Its  waters  tinted  with  the  sunset's  hue; 

And  melody  of  bells  at  close  of  day. 

A  traveler. — The  sunset  lingers  yet 

As  does  the  vision,  and — the  cigarette. 


WAITING  AT  THE  GATE. 

HPHE  birds  are  singing  sweet  vespers, 

1       As  I  stand  by  our  cottage  gate; 
In  the  glory  of  slanting  sunbeams, 
I  watch  for  my  loved  one  and  wait. 

The  city  across  the  waters 

Seems  fading  into  the  sea, 
As  I  watch  a  boat  coming,  coming, 

That's  bringing  my  loved  one  to  me. 

I  often  think  in  the  sunset, 
As  among  the  flowers  I  wait, 

And  the  birds  are  singing  sweet  vespers, 
Shall  I  stand  at  the  pearly  gate  ? 

Shall  I  stand  in  untold  glory  ? 

Shall  I  watch  a  boat  stem  the  tide  ? 
Shall  I  welcome,  as  now,  my  loved  one 

To  our  home  on  the  other  side  ? 


68  Wild  Poppies. 


IN  THE  CATHEDRAL. 

OH  where  is  she  now  I  wonder, 
The  girl  with  the  pale  golden  hair, 
And  sweet  white  face,  and  violet  eyes, 
Who  knelt  in  the  church  at  prayer  ? 

Have  the  soft  Italian  breezes 

Kissed  the  roses  back  to  her  face  ? 

Do  her  eyes  have  still  the  saintly  look 
That  they  wore  in  that  holy  place  ? 

Oh  where  is  she  now  I  wonder 

The  girl  with  the  pale  golden  hair  ? 

In  her  English  home  ? — In  Italy  bright  ? 
Or  in  heaven  an  angel  fair  ? 


Before  the  Holidays.  69 


SAN  JUAN  BY  THE  SEA. 

I  SAW  thee  in  the  sunset, 
Fair  San  Juan  by  the  Sea, 
Like  a  golden  band  of  glory 

Looked  the  western  sky  to  me. 
The  deep  blue  of  the  waters 

Met  the  orange  of  the  sky, 
That  melted  into  palest  gold 

Where  one  star  shone  out  on  high. 


BEFORE  THE  HOLIDAYS. 

IN  our  far  off  New  England  home, 
At  the  side  of  the  chimney  wide, 
Ever  on  Christmas  eve  I  used  to  hang, 
Maxy's  small  stockings  side  by  side. 
Now  Maxy's  away  at  school 

In  a  university  town, 
To-morrow  is  Christmas  day, 

And  the  snow  comes  drifting  down. 


70  Wild  Poppies. 

If  I  had  but  one  golden  coin, 

But  a  crumb  to  a  millionaire, 

'Twould  give  me  the  sound  of  my  darling's  voice, 
A  glimpse  of  his  brown  curly  hair. 
Now  Maxy's  away  at  school 

In  a  university  town, 
To-morrow  is  Christmas  day, 

And  the  snow  comes  drifting  down. 


Upon  one  merry  Christmas  eve 

Maxy  mine  made  a  boyish  boast; 
"  Some  Christmas  mamma,  my  stockings  I'll  fill 
And  bring  you  what  you  love  most." 
Now  Maxy's  away  at  school 

In  a  university  town, 
To-morrow  is  Christmas  day, 

And  the  snow  comes  drifting  down. 


It  is  Maxy's  step  on  the  stair, 

Oh!  joy  it  was  no  idle  boast; 
"  Some  Christmas  mamma,  my  stockings  I'll  fill 
And  bring  you  what  you  love  most." 
Now  Maxy  is  not  at  school 

In  a  university  town, 
To-morrow  is  Christmas  day, 

And  the  snow  comes  dancing  down. 


After  the  Holidays.  71 


AFTER  THE  HOLIDAYS. 

I  WATCH  this  cold,  bright  winter's  day,   the  sun' 
beams  dancing 

Like  flocks  of  yellow  birds  across  the  floor, 
And  listen  for  the  bounding  step  of  Maxy; 
Alas!  I  know  the  holidays  are  o'er. 

I  marvel  much  at  some  fair  Spartan  mother  sending 
Her  noble,  loving  boy  to  far-off  battle-field, 

Smiling,  as  with  untrembling  hand  she  buckles 
Over  her  darling's  heart  a  silver  shield. 

I  wonder  if  she  ever  roamed  the  meadows  holding 
A  small  brown  hand  in  her's,  searching  for  daisies 
white, 

And  buttercups,  like  fallen  stars  from  heaven, 
Some  summer  morning,  bathed  in  rosy  light. 

I  wonder  if  beside  some  marble  fane,  sad  weeping, 
Mother  and  son  have  mourned  their  Spartan  soldier 
dead; 

Have  sweet  white  flowers  placed,  and  laurel  wreaths, 
And  broken  prayer  in  holy  temple  said. 


72  Wild  Poppies. 

There  still  are  many  like  the  Spartan  mother  sending 
Into  life's  battle-field,  their  boy,  their  joy  and  pride, 

With  smiling  face,  but  aching  heart;  and  praying 
' '  The  God  of  battles  "  to  be  on  his  side. 


WHITHER. 

IN  my  window  an  empty  cage, 
The  bird  has  flown,  who  can  tell  where  ? 
Is  it  stranger  the  soul  has  gone 
And  a  cold  form  is  lying  there  ? 


SUSPENSE. 

THE  sky  and  the  sea  like  two  nuns 
Wear  mantles  of  gray, 
And  like  a  black  cross  seem  the  masts 
And  the  yards  of  a  ship  far  away. 

Is  it  coming,  coming  to  me 

This  heavy  black  cross  ? 
Shall  the  hopes  and  the  joys  of  my  life 

Suffer  pitiful  shipwreck  and  loss  ? 


Safe.  73 


The  ship  like  a  bird  on  the  wing, 

Seems  only  to  stay. 
Alas!  it  is  coming,  it  tacks, 

Oh!  thank  God  it  is  sailing  away. 


SAFE. 

AT  the  ebb  of  the  tide,  a  stately  ship, 
Sailed  away  to  a  southern  coast; 
In  the  moonlight  pale,  with  sails  unfurled, 
It  seemed  but  a  white,  sheeted  ghost. 

On  the  midnight  tide,  it  drifted  away; 

Far  away  on  the  trackless  main; 
The  stars  shone  bright,  but  the  night-wind  wailed, 

"  It  will  never  come  back  again." 


The  ship  came  back  from  the  sunny  south  coast, 
Like  a  bird,  with  its  white  wings  spread; 

The  morning  sun  made  the  sea  like  gold, 
And  the  wind  with  its  warning  had  fled. 


74  Wild  Poppies. 


SUNSET  FANCIES. 

AT   THE    GOLDEN    GATE. 

FLAME-COLOR,  orange  and  palest  gold, 
Sunset  stairs  to  the  azure  sky, 
Up  which  the  summer  day  has  gone, 
Trailing  her  robes  of  amethyst  dye. 

Shadowy  grows  the  stairway,  then  dim, 
As  night  in  somber  robe  comes  down, 

Her  dusky  mantle  gemmed  with  stars, 
On  her  forehead  a  crescent  crown. 


WHERE? 

IN  my  tiny  boat  alone, 
Just  inside  the  Golden  Gate, 
From  tropic  shore,  or  from  out  at  sea, 
For  message  to  come  I  wait. 

'Twas  sunset  an  hour  ago 

And  long  slanting  lines  of  light 

Closed  the  way  to  the  ever  restless  sea, 
Through  the  golden  gateway  bright. 


To  Ada  Rehan's  Picture.  75 

But  the  hand  of  twilight  came 

And  loosened  the  yellow  bars, 
Now  a  silver  pathway  across  the  waves 

Is  lighted  by  gleaming  stars. 

0  city  upon  the  hills, 

A  queen  rising  out  of  the  sea, 
Your  thousand  firefly  lights  seem  to  call; 
"  Come  back,  we've  a  home  for  thee." 

1  hear;  but  "  The  sea  is  His;  " 

If  He  calls  me  I  must  go 
Out  on  eternity's  fathomless  sea; 
What  He  wills  is  best,  I  know. 


TO  ADA  REHAN'S  PICTURE. 

UPON  the  city's  street, 
I  paused  at  vision  fair; 
Eyes  where  genius  shines, 
Wealth  of  waving  hair; 
Snowy  neck  and  arms, 

Mouth  like  Cupid's  bow, 
Dream  of  poet's  soul, 
Dress  of  long  ago. 


76  Wild  Poppies. 

Form  of  faultless  mould, 

Poise  of  stately  grace; 
Every  day  I  gaze 

On  that  perfect  face; 
And  I  turn  away 

With  a  fond  regret, 
Though  soon  far  from  me, 

I  can  ne'er  forget. 


L 


ALPINE  BARRY. 

HERO,    MARTYR. 

OFTY  Alps  lifting  up  to  the  sky 


Giant  helmets  and  nodding  plumes  white, 
Sea  of  ice  stretching  far,  far  away; 
Sea  of  fire  in  sunset's  red  light. 

Holy  monks  out  into  the  gloaming 
Sending  brave  Barry,  rescuer,  guide; 

"  Jesu  protect  all  lost  ones,"  they  pray, 
' '  Bring  each  again  to  his  fireside." 

Avalanche  sweeping  with  awful  sound, 
From  the  tall  peaks  to  chasms  below; 

Out  from  the  light  of  the  hospice  door, 

Out  on  the  white  waste,  the  trackless  snow. 


Alpine  Barry.  77 

Brave  Barry  going,  dog  that  had  saved 
Forty  lost  ones  from  the  Alpine  cold, 

Hardy  travelers  of  many  lands, 

And  one  a  fair  boy  with  curls  of  gold. 

•%.  jfc  ifj  ^  •%.  •%.  % 

A  soldier  struggling  up  the  wild  pass, 

Fighting  the  fierce  storm  that  sweeps  the  land, 

A  soldier  lying  beneath  the  snow 

With  his  trusty  sword  clasped  in  his  hand. 

A  cry  of  despair  from  stift'ning  lips; 

Brave  Barry  hast'ning  a  life  to  save, 
Through  the  blinding  storm  and  cruel  snow 

Finding  his  way  to  the  soldier's  grave. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

A  soldier  wan  before  the  fire 

Telling  the  monks  in  its  cheerful  glow, 

Of  his  dreadful  battle  with  the  storm, 
And  his  grave  in  the  white  drifted  snow. 

Of  a  savage  beast  with  warm  moist  breath, 
Of  gleaming  eyes  that  above  him  bent, 

And  that  the  sword  he  grasped  in  his  hand 
Through  the  heart  of  the  monster  he  sent. 

A  look  of  horror  upon  each  face; 

An  aged  monk  in  a  low  voice  said: 
"  Oh!  brothers  it  was  our  noble  dog." 

In  the  dawn  they  found  brave  Barry — dead. 


78  Wild  Poppies. 


TO- 


WOULD  the  sun  shine  as  bright  as  now 
Dear  heart  if  you  were  gone  ? 
Would  birds  upon  the  trees 

Forget  their  song  ? 
Would  flowers  bloom  ? 

Would  soft  winds  whisper  to  the  sea  ? 
Would  hearts  be  merry,  light  and  gay  ? 
Could  such  things  be  ? 

I  know  the  sun  would  shine  as  bright 

Dear  heart  if  you  were  gone. 
The  happy  birds  would  not 

Forget  their  song. 
Flowers  would  bloom 

Soft  winds  would  whisper  to  the  sea. 
To  many,  life  would  be  as  sweet, 

But  not  to  me. 


The  Sapphire  Sea.  79 


THE  SAPPHIRE  SEA. 

THE  sky  is  a  sapphire  sea; 
The  stars  so  sparkling  and  bright, 
Have  caught  and  reflected  the  glory 
Of  "the  city  which  hath  no  night." 

Blue,  blue  is  the  sea  and  at  rest, 

Save  where  sky  and  mountains  meet; 

There  long  white  fleecy  lines  of  clouds 
Like  surf  on  the  hill-tops  beat. 

And  lo!  there's  a  crescent-shaped  boat 

Of  silver,  upon  the  sea; 
And  in  it  are  jewel-crowned  ones, 

Who  waft  a  message  to  me. 

For  I  am  a  mermaid  glad; 

I  dwell  under  the  sapphire  sea, 
I  gather  bright  jewels  and  pearls, 

The  work  that  is  given  me. 


8o  Wild  Poppies. 


A  PARIS  BONNET. 

DEACON  Smallman  to  the  city 
Business  called,  one  bright  spring  day. 
"  Bring  me  home  a  lovely  bonnet," 
Said  his  young  wife,  pretty  May. 

She  was  quite  a  living  picture, 

Gypsy-faced,  and  full  of  life. 
1 '  Too  worldly  minded  ' '  gossips  said, 

"  For  a  sober  Deacon's  wife." 

At  the  milliner's  the  Deacon 

Heaved  a  regretful  sigh; 
True  the  bonnets  were  ' '  reel  putty, ' ' 

But  the  prices  were  so  high. 

At  last  the  charming  milliner 

Said  :     "  Here's  a  Paris  poke 
Only  six  bits,"  and  then  she  coughed 

'Till  the  Deacon  thought  she'd  choke. 

' ' '  Twill  be  so  very  sweet, ' '  she  said, 
' '  Trimmed  with  buttercups,  you  know 

And  poppies,  and — and  clover  leaves 
And  with  just  a  tiny  bow. ' ' 


A  Paris  Bonnet.  81 

Well,  the  Deacon  bought  the  bonnet, 

And  May's  rougish  gypsy  face 
Under  the  stylish  ' '  Paris  poke, ' ' 

Was  the  envy  of  the  place. 

One  day  through  quiet  Meadowtown 

Marching  down  the  village  street, 
Came  the  Salvation  Army, 

With  much  music  loud,  not  sweet. 

Oh  clouds !  blot  out  the  sunshine  fair. 

Each  Salvation  woman  wore 
"  A  Paris  poke,"  minus  flowers. 

Alas!  the  good  Deacon  swore. 

' '  This  world  is  but  a  stage, ' '  we  know, 

1 '  Men  are  actors, ' '  so  they  say. 
At  Deacon  Smallman's  rural  home 

There  was  held  a  matinee. 


82  Wild  Poppies. 


ALL  THAT  REMAINS. 

IN  a  fair  southern  land,  an  old  church  stands 
A  ruin,  with  curious  roof  of  tiles; 
Through  crumbling  arches  gray,  star  tapers  gleam, 
And  moonlight  shadows  wander  up  its  aisles. 

Through  rifts  in  broken  roof,  sunbeams  caress 
The  pictured  face  of  saint  with  golden  hair; 

Time's  hand  has  blotted  out  each  one  save  her's, 
Of  all  the  holy  faces  gathered  there. 

When  noble  lord,  and  peasant  too,  pass  by 
That  ancient  church  upon  their  sev'ral  ways, 

Before  the  saint  with  the  bright  golden  hair, 
In  loving  homage  each  one  kneels  and  prays. 

Like  that  old  Spanish  church,  many  a  life 

A  ruin  now,  once  was  a  holy  place; 
Upon  whose  walls  of  memory  still  hang, 

The  picture  of  some  loving,  saintly  face. 


The  Sun  Has  Gone  Down.  83 


THE  SUN  HAS  GONE  DOWN. 

OUNSHINE  over  the  city, 
O     And  sunlight  upon  the  bay, 
Peace  and  hope,  joy  and  gladness, 
Life  but  a  bright  summer's  day. 

Fog,  and  mist,  and  the  darkness, 
Over  the  sea  and  the  town; 

Houses  and  ships  are  spectres, 
For  oh!   the  sun  has  gone  down. 

Life  was  to  me  all  sunshine, 
When  out  on  the  shoreless  sea 

Sailed  one  I  loved,  and  now 
The  sun  has  gone  down  for  me. 


84  Wild  Poppies. 


DO  THEY  KNOW? 

DO  the  loved  dead  know,  in  their  bright  heavenly 
home, 
When    on   their   dreamless   beds   are  laid   earth's 

flowers  sweet, 
When  blue  forget-me-nots,  and  lilies  white 

Upon  their  lonely  graves  the  wild-flowers  meet  ? 

It  were  not  strange  if  earthly  flower- full  hands, 

And  angel  hands  should  bridge  death's  river,  dark 
and  wide; 

Or  if  our  Father,  earth's  fair,  fading  flowers, 
Should  make  immortal  on  the  heavenly  side. 


California.  85 


CALIFORNIA. 

NEVER  a  land  so  fair, 
Land  of  sunsets  golden, 
Kissed  by  a  sapphire  sea, 
Land  of  Missions  olden. 

Home  of  birds  and  flowers, 

Olive  and  tropic  palm; 
Black-winged  storms  sweep  never 

O'er  its  summer  skies  calm. 

Land  of  gold  and  silver, 
Land  of  honey  and  bees, 

Land  of  wine  and  plenty, 
Land  of  the  giant  trees. 

Of  California 

Proud  may  her  sons  well  be, 
Proud  of  a  land  so  fair, 

Kissed  by  a  sapphire  sea. 


86  Wild  Poppies. 


MY  WATCH. 


YOU  are  dying  my  little  watch, 
Your  heart  is  beating  slow; 
I  hold  you  in  my  hands, 
I  listen, — oh!  so  low 
Is  your  voice  that  used  to  chirp 
Like  a  cricket,  long  ago. 


Little  watch,  I  grieve,  oh  I  grieve 
That  your  life's  work  is  done; 

That  your  heart  will  not  beat 
At  setting  of  the  sun, 

That  your  hands  will  be  at  rest, 
That  your  race  is  almost  run. 


You  were  old,  O  my  little  watch, 
When  first  into  your  face 

I  looked  with  childish  eyes 
Before  the  fire  place; 

The  red  light  dancing  gaily 
On  your  tiny  jeweled  case. 


My    Watch.  87 

My  loving  gaze  followed  your  hands 

As  in  the  rosy  glow 
I  sat  near  grandmama, 

Grandma  who  loved  me  so. 
She  promised  you  should  be  mine 

When  a  lady  I  should  grow. 

Little  watch  she  left  me  alone 

With  none  to  care  for  me, 
Lonely  and  sad  of  heart 

I  had  a  friend  in  thee. 
A  talisman  since  childhood 

You  have  ever  seemed  to  me. 

Like  a  fair  Egyptian  princess 

Of  ages  now  grown  old, 
Little  watch  I'll  keep  thee 

In  thy  small  case  of  gold, 
Wrapped  like  ancient  mummy 

In  many  a  silken  fold. 


88  Wild  Poppies. 


NIGHT  AT  SEA. 

THE  stars  like  tapers  burn 
Across  the  waters  deep ; 
The  winds,  like  summer  breezes  sigh, 
In  peace  I'll  fall  asleep. 

My  Father  lit  the  stars, 

He  stilled  the  storm-tossed  deep, 
His  voice  controlled  the  winds; 

Therefore  in  peace  I'll  sleep. 


A  LAUREL  WREATH. 

HPHE  laurel  trees  wandered  down  to  the  shore 

I       To  mirror  their  faces  in  the  blue  waves. 
The  summer  breeze  whispered  gently  to  them 
Of  sea-nymphs  who  dwell  in  pearl-strewn  caves. 

The  moonlight  lay  like  a  silvery  shield 

With  moving  laurel  leaves  traced  on  its  side, 

From  out  of  the  ocean  Neptune  came, 

To  choose  a  crown  for  his  sea-nymph  bride. 


Day  Dreams.  89 

He  gathered  a  wreath  of  bright  laurel  leaves; 

And  sailors  oft  see  in  the  moonlight  fair; 
In  Nautilus  boat,  the  Ocean  Queen, 

With  a  laurel  wreath  on  her  waving  hair. 


DAY  DREAMS. 

THE  countless  stars  are  dreams  we  dream   when 
we're  awake, 

But  ev'ry  morn  the  golden  sun  blots  out  the  stars, 
Or  night  with  black  cloud-curtains  shuts  them  from 

our  sight; 

Yet  when  the  sun  and  clouds  are  gone,  and  in  the  sky 
The  moon,  a  silver  crescent  crowns  the  evening  hour, 
They  come  again,  and  yet  again,  night  after  night. 
We  call  dreams  ' '  toys, ' '  because  we  may  not  keep 

them  now; 

But  when  we  walk  among  the  stars,  as  angels  do, 
Perchance  we'll  find  them  real,  not  "toys,"  our  day 

dreams  bright. 


90  Wild  Poppies. 


ETERNAL  SILENCE. 

DEAD  in  your  coffin  lying, 
Cold  lips  of  ashen  hue, 
Brow  of  marble  as  peaceful 
As  a  cloudless  sky  of  blue. 

Lips  oh!  so  cold  and  ashen, 

You  never  move  to  tell 
If  your  spirit  eyes  have  opened 

To  light  of  heaven  or  hell. 

White  lips  that  once  were  ruby, 
Death's  secret  so  well  you  keep 

That  the  living  heart  misgives 
Lest  you  sleep  the  endless  sleep. 


To-morrow    Will  Be  Bright.  91 


TO-MORROW  WILL  BE  BRIGHT. 

THE  sea  to-day  is  sad 
It  wears  a  mantle  of  gray, 
And  ships  are  but  shadows  dim 
That  were  white-winged  yesterday. 

To-day  the  rain-drops  fall, 
And  winds  have  a  sullen  roar, 

But  to-morrow  the  sun  will  shine 
As  bright  as  ever  before. 

The  ships,  now  phantom  barques, 
Will  gleam  in  the  glad  sunlight; 

Heart  of  mine  so  sad  rejoice, 
For  to-morrow  will  be  bright. 


92  Wild  Poppies. 


UNDER  THE  SENTENCE  OF  DEATH. 

T   TNDER  the  sentence  of  death, 
LJ      A  prisoner  in  his  cell; 
Like  a  string  of  beads  his  days, 
And  he  knows  their  number  well. 

Under  the  sentence  of  death, 

All  who  walk  life's  way; 
None  but  the  Judge  knows  the  hour, 

Only  He  the  fatal  day. 


A  KING'S  DAUGHTER. 

IF  upon  the  city's  street 
My  fair  Princess  you  should  meet, 
Ina,  with  her  gentle  face  so  fair, 
In  her  simple  woolen  dress, 
You  would  never,  never  guess, 
To  a  royal  kingdom  she  was  heir. 


A  King's  Daughter.  93 

Often  those  who  know  her  well 
To  each  other  softly  tell 

Of  her  life,  so  quiet,  yet  so  grand; 
That  upon  her  golden  hair 
Rests  a  crown  of  jewels  rare, 

Placed  there  by  her  loving  Father's  hand. 

Tiny  cross  my  Princess  wears, 
As  a  token  that  she  shares 

Burdens  with  all  children  of  the  King. 
Like  the  North  Star  shining  bright, 
Sea-tossed  ones  she  guides  aright 

To  the  sure,  safe  shadow  of  His  wing. 

Earthly  kingdoms  are  laid  low, 
But  her  Father's  throne  we  know 

Through  eternity  shall  surely  stand; 
Here,  she  has  many  a  care, 
But  she'll  reign  forever  there 

A  fair  Princess,  at  the  King's  right  hand. 


94  Wild  Poppies. 


CHANGED. 

THE  south  wind  whispered  in  merrie  May, 
"  Come,  come  quickly,  flowers  fair;  " 
And  dainty  blossoms  pink  and  white 
Covered  the  apple  trees  brown  and  bare. 

Gay  dandelions  in  meadows  gleamed, 

The  grass  showed  many  soldier-like  blades, 

The  maiden' s-hair  nodded,  and  violets  blue 
Nestled  close  to  the  trees  in  sylvan  glades. 

The  bees  buzzed  about  among  the  flowers 
With  a  cheerful,  cheering,  constant  sound, 

And  the  little  bird  sang  its  soul  away 
To  the  fond  loving  heart  it  had  found. 

But  the  golden  dandelions  now 

Are  fluffy  bits  of  browny  fuzz, 
And  the  bees  that  kissed  the  flowers  fair 

Have  lost  their  cheerful,  cheery  buzz. 

In  the  hearts  of  yellow  roses  they 

Drone  a  dreamy,  drowsy  tune 
All  about  honey,  honey  sweet, 

In  the  mid-day  hours  of  June. 


Farewell.  95 

The  birds  have  lost  their  sweet  love  notes 

And  sing  to  fledgings  a  lullaby; 
And  oft-times  clouds  like  black-winged  birds, 

Sweep  across  the  soft  blue  sky. 

June  has  roses  and  rainbows  too 
And  many  a  perfect  summer's  day, 

But  for  fairy-like,  fragile  beauty  fair, 
There  is  never  a  month  like  May. 


FAREWELL. 

TO-DAY  I  have  put  on  a  snowy  gown, 
And  fastened  a  white  rose  upon  my  breast, 
As  if  'neath  a  coffin  lid  I  must  lie, 
In  the  long,  long  dreamless  rest. 

For  to-day  you'll  look  your  last  on  my  face, 
And  perhaps  your  eyes  will  be  filled  with  tears, 

Because  I'll  be  dead  to  you,  oh  my  love! 
Though  each  may  live  many  years. 

Then  think  of  me  ever  in  snowy  gown, 
With  one  white  rose  just  over  my  heart; 

There,  kiss  me  farewell  dear,  I  love  you  so, 
Just  one  kiss: — and  then  we  part. 


96  Wild  Poppies. 


PICTURES  ON  THE  WALL. 

OUNLIGHT  and  shadows  only  you  see; 
vj     You  say  the  walls  of  my  room  are  bare; 
To  you  they  are  only  cold  white  walls, 

To  me  they  are  covered  with  pictures  rare. 

A   MARINE   VIEW. 

The  moon  coming  up  from  out  of  the  sea, 
Making  a  pathway  of  pale  golden  light, 

Across  the  blue  waves  from  the  distant  sky, 
A  fluttering  sail,  like  a  bird's  wing  white. 

A  young  girl  watching,  watching  the  sail, 

Watching  the  boat  cross  the  pathway  of  light, 

Her  brown  hair  tossed  by  the  summer  breeze, 
Watching  the  white  sail  drift  out  of  her  sight. 

A    FLOWER    PIECE. 

Clover  blossoms,  red  and  white, 

Dandelions  and  buttercups  too, 
Sweetbrier  roses,  a  wide-brimmed  hat, 

Twined  with  a  ribbon  of  faded  blue. 


Pictures  on  the    Wall.  97 

A   COMPANION   PIECE. 

Sweet  pond-lilies  out  of  the  water 

Holding  their  faces,  gentle  and  fair, 
Cat-tails  nodding,  and  brown  rocks  covered 

With  tender  mosses  and  maiden's  hair. 

A   NEW   ENGLAND   LANDSCAPE. 

The  misty  light  of  Indian  summer, 

Soft'ning  the  brown  of  a  farm-house  old, 

Cornfield  and  meadow,  and  slanting  sunbeams 
Turning  the  leaves  of  the  maples  to  gold. 

A   MAY   MORNING. 

An  apple  tree  covered 

With  blossoms  pink  and  white, 
Bees  and  butterflies  coqueting, 

Bathed  in  the  morning's  light. 

ON   THE   PLAINS. 

Lonely  plains  stretching  away  to  the  west,— 

Sage  brush  and  prickly  pear; 
White  covered  wagons  toiling 

Slow  in  the  hot,  noontide  glare. 

ALONE. 

A  pine  tree  among  the  rocks, 

High  up  on  the  mountain's  crest, 
Defying  the  bolts  of  Heaven, 

In  its  branches  an  eagle's  nest. 


98  Wild  Poppies. 

A   ROCKY   MOUNTAIN   LANDSCAPE. 

Snow-crowned  giant  peaks  to  heaven  uprising, 

A  cascade  dashing  down  a  canon  deep  and  wide, 

A  lonely  cabin,  like  an  eagle's  nest, 

Perched  on  an  o'erhanging  ledge  of  mountain's  side. 

A  SOLDIER'S  GRAVE. 

A  soldier' s  grave,  o'  er  which  Mt.  Shasta  like  a  senti- 

nal,  keeps  guard; 

A  soldier's  lonely  grave,  where  God's  own  hand  has 
planted  flowers  white; 

A  comrade,  faithful,   unforgetting,   standing   by  that 
grave  alone, 

Save  for  *  *  a  wide  eyed  rabbit ' '  looking  on  in  wonder, 

undismayed. 

A  background  radiant,  the  golden  glory  of  the  sun 
set  bright. 

Painted  by  fancy  in  lonely  hours, 

Memory's  pictures  though  they  be, 
Europe's  palaces  never  held 

Pictures  more  life-like  and  real  to  me. 


A   Golden  Pathway.  99 


BESIDE  THE  SEA. 

ALL  the  sunbeams  of  the  sky  seem  dancing 
On  the  sparkling  tropic  sea, 
And  the  great  waves  ceaseless  moan  and  thunder 
In  their  solemn  majesty. 

But  across  the  sky,  like  birds  quick  passing, 

Shadows  fall  upon  the  waves, 
As  if  golden  sunbeams  danced  too  gaily 

Over  sailors  lonely  graves. 

Thus  across  the  brightness  of  life's  pathway, 

Sorrow  comes  alas!  to  all, 
As  upon  the  sparkling  tropic  ocean, 

Dreary,  dusky  shadows  fall. 


A  GOLDEN  PATHWAY. 

T  DREAMED  that  I  stood  upon  the  edge 
1     Of  a  river  deep,  and  chill  and  wide, 
In  the  twofold  gloom  of  night  and  clouds, 
And  I  must  cross  to  the  other  side. 


ioo  Wild  Poppies. 

I  heard  no  sound  of  swift  coming  oar, 
I  saw  no  sail  like  a  bird's  wing  white, 

The  stars  were  blotted  out  by  the  fog, 
"The  City  "  was  hidden  from  my  sight. 

Whenlo!  through  "  severing  clouds"  the  moon 
A  pathway  made  to  the  other  side, 

And  one  I  loved  was  waiting  for  me 
As  fearless  I  crossed  the  river  wide. 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 

THE  endless  years  are  only  beads 
Strung  on  the  threads  of  time, 
And  some  are  bright  like  golden  ones, 

And  some  like  amber  clear, 
While  others  seem  like  molten  lead, 
And  dimmed  by  many  a  tear. 

To-night  I  held  a  shining  bead 

And  with  reluctant  hand 

I  grasped  the  new,  and  like  a  nun, 

O'er  it  I  said  a  prayer; 
If  golden  bright,  or  inky  dark, 

I  begged  the  Father's  care. 


Every  Morning.  101 


MY  TRAVELER. 

GOD  keep  all  who  travel  to-night 
By  sea  or  by  land; 
Father  in  heaven  hold  them 

Close  with  thy  powerful  hand. 
Keep  them,  O  Father,  from  danger, 

Danger  by  land  and  sea, 
Safe  for  those  who  love  them  ; 
This  is  my  prayer  to  Thee. 


EVERY  MORNING. 

FROM  open  casement  she  waves  her  hand 
And  follows  me  with  her  eyes  of  blue 
And  smiles  on  me  as  I  leave  each  day, 
Aye,  sweet  as  the  angels  do. 

Some  way  on  the  crowded  city's  street 

And  'mid  whirl  and  strife  for  wealth  and  fame 

She  seems  to  be  near,  my  guiding  star, 
Smiling  on  me  just  the  same, 


102  Wild  Poppies. 

As  from  tiie  window  where  roses  climb, 

She  wafts  a  good-bye  to  me  each  day; 
\  tc*Vlt  is  joy  to  work  for  wealth  and  fame 
At  my  darling' s  feet  to  lay. 


JEWELS  FROM  UNDER  THE  SEA. 

FANCHON  stood  by  the  blue  summer  sea, 
Fanchon  who  came  from  a  foreign  land; 
Sea-nymphs  she  saw  in  each  crested  wave, 
Sparkling  jewels  in  each  sea-kissed  hand, 
Jewels  from  under  the  sea. 

Fanchon  held  out  her  beautiful  hands, 

Fanchon,  whose  hair  is  like  fine-spun  gold; 

Called  to  the  sea-nymphs  in  sweetest  tones: 
' '  Bring  me  the  gleaming  jewels  you  hold. 
Jewels  from  under  the  sea." 

The  sea-nymphs^  came  on  the  great  green  waves 
Which  like  death  shut  her  out  from  our  sight, 

When  lo!  in  the  sunshine  Fanchon  stood, 
Sparkling  and  gleaming  with  jewels  bright; 
Jewels  from  under  the  sea. 


Too  Soon.  103 


TOO   SOON. 

THE  moon  rides  like  a  silver  boat  to-night 
Upon  the  clouds,  white- crested,  sky-sea  waves; 
From  solemn  pine  an  eagle  wings  its  flight 

To  lofty  crags,  and  peaks,  and  lonely  caves. 
Through  bare,  brown  branches  of  the  forest  trees 

The  wind,  with  voice  of  Indians  of  long  ago, 
Wails  down  the  canon,  then,  like  summer  breeze, 

Whispers  to  hardy  mountain  flowers  low. 
A  timid  deer,  down  to  a  lake  so  clear 

It  mirrors  a  bright  star  that  shines  on  high, 
Comes  down  the  trail,   strewn  with  leaves  sere  and 

brown 
To  drink  under  the  star-gemmed  sky. 


The  clouds  have  blotted  out  the  crescent  moon 
And  the  bright  stars  in  sky  and  lake  of  blue, 

As  light  is  blotted  out  of  life  too  soon 

By  hands  we  trusted  and  believed  were  true. 


IO4  Wild  Poppies. 


PLATONIC  FRIENDSHIP. 

MARBLE  maiden  fashioned  in  wise  Plato's  school' 
Sculptured  fair  with  wondrous  classic  art, 
Crowned  with  laurel  wreaths  unfading, 
Yet  she  had  a  human  heart. 

She  was  but  a  scholar  dull  in  that  great  school; 

Though  at  first  she  grasped  the  * '  pure  ideal, ' ' 
Glances  from  dark  eyes  soon  taught  her, 

That  earthly  love  is  real. 

One  small  marble  hand  in  friendship  she  extended, 
While  the  other  pressed  her  throbbing  heart, 

Nature,  woman  taught  to  worship; 
Plato  teaches  classic  art. 


Two  Stars.  105 


UNDER  A  MIMOSA  TREE. 

THE  dewdrops  hang  on  the  bending  grass, 
A  dragon-fly  cuts  a  sunbeam  through, 
The  moaning  Cypress  trees  lift  sombre  arms 

Up  to  skies  of  cloudless  blue. 
A  humming-bird  sips  from  golden  cup, 

In  the  hedges  a  hidden  bird  sings, 
And  a  butterfly  among  the  flowers 
Tells  me  my  soul  has  wings. 


TWO  STARS. 

A  BLUE  lake  among  the  hills 
With  a  fringe  of  shadowy  pines, 
Above  a  glorious  star 

That  sparkles  and  gleams  and  shines. 

A  star  in  the  clear  blue  lake 
That  smiles  to  a  star  above, 

The  type  of  a  human  heart 
That  mirrors  the  Father's  love. 


106  Wild  Poppies. 


THE  CLOCK  ON  THE  TOWER. 

UPON  the  city's  crowded  street 
There  stands  a  tall  stone  tower, 
And  up  almost  among  the  clouds, 
A  clock  proclaims  the  hour. 

It  is  a  mentor,  true  and  good, 

To  all,  who  hurrying  by 
Consult  its  placid  face,  for  Oh! 

' '  Figures  can  never  lie. ' ' 

That  * '  life  is  passing  quickly  by ' ' 

Unto  all  it  tells  alike; 
To  discontented  workingmen 

It  says;   "  I  never  strike." 

One  day  I  took  an  untried  street, 
(Alas!  confidence  misplaced) 

I  found  the  clock  I  trusted  well, 
Like  man,  was  many  faced. 


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